All My Friends Are Going To Be Strangers
by MidnightBlue88
Summary: Four years after detention, the members of the BC are struggling with who they are and who they want to be. When a tragedy brings them back together for the first time in years, they have one shot to make things right, for themselves and with each other.
1. Slow Change

Disclaimer: I do not own the Breakfast Club. I do not own the song "Don't You (Forget About Me)" by Simple Minds. Nor do I own the title "All of My Friends Are Going to Be Strangers". That honor belongs to Larry McMurtry. (I'm horrible at coming up with titles, so I like to just steal other people's.)

Summary: Four years after detention, the BC reunites after years of separation to help one of their own. Together, they travel back to Shermer, where they find that some memories, and flames, never die.

A/N: Another story, yay! Don't worry, I haven't forgotten about my others. I've just been getting some major plot bunnies lately and decided to start developing them before they disappeared completely. So, here it is.

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Chapter One: Slow Change

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Saturday, March 26, 1988  
Cambridge, Massachusetts

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Brian Johnson stood on the corner of John F. Kennedy and Eliot, just outside of The Tasty Diner, and stared up at the sky. It was a crisp, sunny day, made even more perfect by the fact that it was also the first official day of Spring Break. It was the kind of weather that made him want to start a game of touch football in the Old Yard, if he was into that kind of thing… which, let's face it, he wasn't.

After a moment, Brian tore his eyes away from the cloudless sky and went into the diner. It was a small, crowded space, but it had been there forever and was one of the more popular grazing spots for students and locals alike. Brian was a big fan of their blueberry pancakes, which were so huge that they took up an entire dinner plate. He often came to the diner for lunch or supper, partially because it was really cheap and partially because his girlfriend Rebecca worked there.

Rebecca was a pretty girl with long dirty blonde hair and a shy smile that he'd met in his French Literature class the year before when they'd been paired up to give a presentation on Honorè de Balzac. He didn't remember much about the presentation other than the fact that they'd aced it, but he did remember their first real conversation outside of class. They were sitting in the library discussing their presentation when Brian went off on a tangent about the Realist Movement as a reaction to the Romantic Movement in post-revolutionary France. He must have gone on for two or three minutes straight without pausing even once, but she didn't say a word to try to stop him. In fact, she was even _listening_. Brian pretty much fell in love with her right on the spot.

Brian snagged a seat at a booth next to the window. Spring Break or not, he had some reading to do for some of his English classes and knew that he couldn't wait until the last minute to finish, especially since he was going to be spending the week at his roommate Jonathan's beach house with him and the rest of their housemates. The house was on the coast of Cape Cod not three hours away, and the boys had been looking forward to their trip for months.

After a couple of minutes, Rebecca walked over to his table, sales pad in hand. "Hey, big boy. Lookin' for some candy?" she said seductively, doing her best impression of Mae West. Brian felt his face flush and Rebecca, suddenly realizing what she'd just said, blushed, too, and let out a nervous chuckle. "Um, hi."

Brian bit his lip to keep from laughing. "Hi."

"Do you want something to eat?"

He paused. "Maybe."

Rebecca smiled knowingly. "I'll be right back."

Brian nodded and watched her disappear into the kitchen, then opened his backpack to find the worn-out copy of Pride and Prejudice he was reading for his British literature class. He'd always loved reading, even more than he loved math and science, and had surprised his parents by choosing English as his field of study. He wanted to teach when he graduated, high school or middle school perhaps, but his parents were still under the impression that he would go onto grad school or even law school. He didn't correct them, mainly because they were paying for most of his education, which was no small price, considering it was Harvard.

Rebecca returned a few minutes later with a tray in her hand. "Blueberry pancakes and…" She slid a plate of warm blueberry pancakes and a cup of coffee onto his table and smiled. "…coffee."

Brian smiled appreciatively. "Thanks."

Rebecca glanced behind her to check on her other tables. "I'll be back."

Brian nodded and reached for the syrup. He didn't know exactly how many blueberry pancakes he'd eaten in the entire time he'd lived in Cambridge, but the number was probably in the thousands. Not that it had hurt him any. In fact, Brian attributed his substantial gains in both weight and height to Tasty's cuisine. By the end of his freshman year, he'd gained forty pounds and had shot up about four inches, making him 6'2. He was still pretty lanky, but at least he didn't look like an awkward high school student anymore.

After he finished off his pancakes, Brian pulled out his book again and read about fifty pages in a little under two hours. Rebecca made frequent stops at his table to check on him and chat. At about 8:00 that night, she brought him his check and slid into the other side of the booth, checking to make sure her manager wasn't watching.

"He's in the kitchen."

Rebecca looked back at him and grinned. "When do you leave on Monday?"

"Uh, I don't know. In the morning sometime."

"You can come over tomorrow night if you want. Jessica's leaving to go home in the afternoon, so I'll have the place to myself."

Brian knew that he was probably blushing a little bit and he hated himself for it. He was twenty-one years old, for crying out loud. Wasn't he supposed to outgrow stuff like that? "Um, yeah. Yeah, that sounds, um… that sounds good."

"Okay." Rebecca tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear as one of the chefs walked out of the kitchen whistling 'Bridge Over the River Kwai'. Rebecca didn't seem to notice, but Brian looked over at him, startled. He hadn't heard that tune in years. Four years, in fact. It was the marching tune the Breakfast Club been whistling in detention when they'd first met.

"So, you can just call when you want to come over."

Brian looked back at Rebecca. "What? Oh, yeah. Of course. I'll call you."

"Okay…" She looked back over her shoulder, then stood from the seat. "I have to go, but I'll see you tomorrow."

Brian nodded. "Yeah, okay." She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek then walked over to another table to help a customer that had just come into the diner. Brian dug out his wallet and laid a few dollar bills on the table, then stood and gathered his things. He was just about to turn and leave when the map on the far wall caught his eye, and he walked over to get a better look. Tasty's was famous for the gigantic map of the world that was completely covered in pins that supposedly represented the origins of the diner's customers. Brian had always been skeptical about the map's accuracy, especially since there were more pins in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean than there were in Massachusetts, where the diner was located. There were dozens of pins stuck into the small area that Illinois occupied on the map and most of them were in arranged in a tight little circle over the heart of Chicago. There was one pin, a red one, that Brian himself had put on the map just after he arrived in Cambridge when he was lonely and homesick and missing his friends. He'd put it right where Shermer would be, even though it wasn't named on the map, and after almost three years, it still hadn't moved.

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Two months after their Saturday in detention, Andy, Allison and Claire graduated from Shermer High School while Bender and Brian sat in the bleachers together and cheered them on. Well, Brian cheered them on. Bender chain smoked an entire pack of cigarettes and threw the stubs into the open purse of a rich looking woman sitting a couple of rows below them. Unfortunately for her, he only missed twice.

That summer, the five of them hung out as much as they could, which wasn't a lot. Andy, who had been accepted to Ohio State University on a full wrestling scholarship, spent a lot of his free time working out with some of his teammates so that he would stay in shape. Claire, who had remained close to most of her friends, divided her time between the Prep Club and the Breakfast Club. Everyone seemed to be going their separate ways and, in the fall of 1984, they finally did.

Andy and Claire started college during the first week of September. Claire lost touch rather quickly, but Brian and Andy talked on the phone a few times, especially during the fall semester when Andy was having a hard time figuring out his place on the wrestling team and in his classes. By the time the spring semester rolled around, Andy had found a good group of friends and his conversations with Brian dwindled from once a week to once a month to nothing.

Allison moved to New York not long after the other two left, hoping to find her niche in the city of hopes and dreams. She sent Brian postcards with short, cryptic messages or detailed drawings that left Brian more confused than comforted. He wrote her letters telling her how school was progressing for him and Bender, but she never responded directly to any of his information or questions and he sometimes wondered if she even read those letters. In the last letter he ever sent her, Brian told Allison that he had gotten accepted to Harvard and would be graduating from high school in a matter of months. She never wrote back.

Brian and Bender started their final year of school, but only one of them finished. Bender dropped out a couple of months into the fall semester and got a job with an electrical repair company that operated on his end of town. Brian saw him a few times during that last year, but not very often. Bender was busy with work and Brian was busy with school and the two of them had never been very close to begin with. By the time he graduated, Brian hadn't spoken to any of the other members of the Breakfast Club in months.

Brian had wanted to get in touch with them, especially during that first semester at Harvard when he would hole up in his dorm room and watch television or read instead of going to parties. There were so many times when he almost picked up the phone to call Andy or even Bender, but he never let himself dial that final number. He imagined that they had probably moved on from high school and wouldn't understand why Brian would choose to call them out of all the other people he knew. Brian didn't really understand it either, but he knew that there wasn't anyone else that he wanted to talk to outside of those four. Maybe it was because they knew things about him that no one else in the entire world knew. Maybe it was because they were the only people who had seen him at his lowest point and he knew that they wouldn't be uncomfortable hearing the desperation in his voice or the tears clogging up the back of his throat. Either way, he didn't make the call. Eventually, he turned off the television and started going to parties. He started talking with other students in his classes and made plans to go out for coffee or lunch. After a while, he had people that he called friends, people who knew him by name, and that went a long way in helping him feel not quite so alone in the world. But he still thought about the Breakfast Club a lot. Every once in a while, Brian would remember a joke that Bender told or a book that he and Claire talked about and the memory would be so strong that he would open his mouth to tell the person sitting next to him. He always stopped himself just in time, realizing that no one else would understand why it was so funny or interesting or important.

Three years later, he still wondered if he would ever stop missing them.

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Brian lived in a small three bedroom apartment occupied by himself and four other college students that he called friends. He'd met Jonathan and Charlie in one of his English classes during the spring semester of his freshman year and they'd agreed to get an apartment together in the fall. Justin and Nathaniel joined them a semester later during the spring of 1986 and the five of them moved into a slightly larger apartment down the street. The arrangement worked out fairly well for everyone involved, though Brian knew better than anyone else on the planet that five very different people in one small space was bound to get a bit heated at times.

The first thing Brian heard when he opened the door on Saturday night was: "Franklin Roosevelt."

Brian rolled his eyes and locked the door behind him. Jonathan and Charlie were as different as any two people could possibly be. Jonathan was a reporter for the _Harvard Crimson_, the daily newspaper put out by the students, and he took his position on the paper very seriously. A bit too seriously at times, as Charlie loved to point out. Charlie was on staff with the _Harvard Lampoon_, a humor magazine that was engaged in a very intense rivalry with the _Crimson_ that had been going on for decades. The two of them traded insults like they were baseball cards and were a constant source of irritation (or, in some cases, entertainment) for their fellow housemates. Their most common and enduring argument, which they had apparently picked up again on Saturday night, involved comparing how many famous people had come out of their respective publications.

"William Randolph Hearst."

"J.F.K."

"Fred Gwyne."

"David Halberstam."

Charlie looked over at Jonathan and frowned. "Who the hell is David Halberstam?"

Jonathan rolled his eyes. "He's a journalist. He used to report for the New York Times."

"Never heard of him."

"That's because you can't read."

"If I haven't heard of him, it doesn't count."

"What! Does, too!"

"Does not."

"He won the Pulitzer Prize!"

"Doesn't matter."

Jonathan looked over at Brian, who had just walked into the living room. "Do you know who David Halberstam is?"

Brian hesitated, then nodded. Jonathan looked over at Charlie triumphantly. "David Halberstam. Your turn."

Charlie sighed. "John Updike."

"Caroline Kennedy."

Brian continued into the kitchen, where Nathaniel was eating a banana as he read _Sphere_ by Michael Crichton. "Hey."

Nathaniel looked up. "Hey. Your mom called."

"When?"

"About an hour ago."

Brian sighed. "Thanks."

Nathaniel nodded and went back to his book. Brian dumped his backpack into an empty chair and walked back to the bedroom he shared with Jonathan. He removed his jacket and gloves, then plopped down on his bed and stared up at the ceiling. He knew that he should probably call his mother as soon as possible, if only just to get the conversation over with, but he didn't really have the energy just then. Maybe later, when he'd had time to prepare himself a little.

In the other room, the phone rang and Brian tensed, hoping it wasn't for him. After a moment, he heard someone knocking on his door. "Brian?"

Brian sat up and sighed. "Come in."

The door pushed open slowly and Nathaniel peeked his head into the room. "Phone's for you."

Brian stood up from the bed. "It is my mom?"

"No, some girl."

Brian furrowed his brow in confusion. "Rebecca?"

"No, I didn't know her."

Brian followed Nathaniel into the kitchen, where Jonathan and Charlie were reheating leftover pizza from the night before. Nathaniel picked up his book again and started reading, and Brian went over to the phone, which was resting on the kitchen counter.

"Hello?"

"Brian?"

"Yes?"

"It's Claire."

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A/N: The Tasty Diner was a real diner in Harvard Square (it was actually turned into an Abercrombie and Fitch a few years back, corporate bastards) and it did have a map wall with pins, as described.

Please review. : )


	2. Holding Back the Years

A/N: Thanks for all of the great reviews encouraging me to continue this story. : )

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Chapter Two: Holding Back the Years

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**March 26, 1988  
Shermer, Illinois **

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"Brian?"

"Yes?"

Claire took a deep breath. "It's Claire."

There was a pause on Brian's end of the line and Claire panicked, hoping he wasn't about to hang up. "I know we haven't talked in a long time, but I just thought…" She stopped, not sure what she was supposed to say next.

"Um, it's okay. How… how are you?" he asked.

Claire swallowed, the tears clogging the back of her throat. It was funny that she didn't even realize how much she needed someone to ask her that until they did. "Fine," she said quietly.

Brian was silent for a moment, probably wondering, like her, why the hell she'd called him if she was just going to sit there like an idiot and not say anything. "So, uh, how's school?" he asked.

Claire sighed and wiped a stray tear from the corner of her eye. "It's fine. Good. I'm graduating in May."

"Wow, that's great. Are you still a French major?"

"No, Business." She hadn't been a French major since her freshman year, which only went to show how long it had been since she'd spoken with Brian… or any of the other members of the Breakfast Club. She felt her face grow warm with embarrassment. "What about you? How is school?"

"Oh, it's, uh, it's good."

"So, you're at Harvard."

"Um, yeah. Yeah, I am."

"English?"

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

"I talked to your mom."

Brian paused. "Oh."

Claire swallowed. "I'm sorry. It's just that I didn't have your number and I thought I could-"

"No, no, it's okay."

Claire let out a deep breath. "I guess you're probably wondering why I'm calling."

"No, it's… I mean, you can call whenever, you know? It doesn't matter."

Claire nodded, though, of course, he couldn't see her. "Well, I guess I was just calling to…" She took another deep breath. "My mother died."

Brian was silent for a moment before speaking. "I'm sorry."

There was something so simple and genuine about his words that tears immediately sprang to her eyes. She opened her mouth so say something else, to give him the details, but found that her vocal cords weren't working. She pulled her knees closer to her chest and leaned back against the top of the sofa chair, letting the tears fall. She'd cried when she'd heard, of course, when her father had called her earlier that day from the hospital. She'd cried when she called her brother Daniel and again when she'd talked to her mother's sister, Irene. She'd cried a lot that day, but there was something very different about it this time. Like she could finally let the tears fall and not have to worry about making them stop.

Brian didn't say anything for a long time. After a moment, Claire brushed the tears from her cheeks and swallowed. "It happened this morning."

"What happened?"

Claire took another deep breath; they seemed to be helping. "She had a heart attack."

"Are you at home?"

"Yeah. I drove back this afternoon, right after I heard."

"Is your family there?"

Claire looked around her room, at the pictures of friends and relatives and people she hadn't seen in years. "My dad is. My brother's flying in tomorrow."

There was some shuffling on Brian's end. "When is the funeral?"

"Wednesday." She paused, wondering if she could get the words out. "Actually, I was wondering if you could come." She took another deep breath. "If all of you could come."

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Claire talked to Brian for about twenty more minutes before hanging up the phone and settling back into her chair.

She hadn't been expecting the call. Not in the least. Sure, her mother's doctor was always warning her about stress and, sure, high blood pressure was nothing to joke around about. But death? That only happened to other people; it wasn't supposed to happen to someone she cared about, and certainly not so quickly. Death, if it came at all, was supposed to announce itself properly, to call ahead and let everyone know it was coming. At the very least, it was supposed to give you enough time to say goodbye.

Claire brushed another tear from her cheek and leaned back in her chair. When her father called her that morning, she was running late for a lunch date with Jacqueline, one of her sorority sisters. She was trying to find the match to the brown boot she was holding in her hand when the phone rang. She almost let the machine get it, but changed her mind when she realized that it might be Jacqueline wondering where she was. But of course it wasn't Jacqueline; it was her father calling from the hospital to tell her that her mother had passed away and that she needed to come home.

She never did find that other boot.

Three hours later, she was sitting in her living room next to one of her mother's DAR friends, fielding calls from concerned friends and relatives wanting details about the funeral and the circumstances of her mother's death. All of them were sympathetic to Claire and her family, and all of them told Claire that she shouldn't hesitate to call if she needed anything. Claire fought the urge to tell them that what she really needed was to be left alone so that she could curl up in her bed and cry and fall asleep and not have to worry about what she was supposed to say to Aunt Florence from New Jersey who once called her mother a "shameless tart" and never said sorry, or to Gladys, her mother's best friend from high school who hadn't spoken to Catherine Standish in almost eight years and wanted to know every single detail about Claire's life at college. By the end of the day, Claire was ready to rip the phone out of the wall and throw it into the garbage can.

She'd settled for a cookie and a warm shower. All of the neighbors had ordered their maids to cook up something fresh and delicious, therefore saving her own maid from having to do it. The kitchen counter boasted a plate of cookies and an apple pie, and the refrigerator had three or four casserole dishes crammed onto the bottom shelf. Claire hoped that they wouldn't receive anymore food, but was pretty sure that they would. Luckily her brother Daniel was flying in tomorrow, and he was a heavy eater.

Claire stood up from her chair and walked over to her dresser, which was covered with old pictures of people she hadn't seen or talked to in years. Girls from the Prep Club and Student Council, old boyfriends that, at the time, she was so sure that she would end up marrying. She picked up a picture of herself and her best friend Janice that had been taken in the school parking lot right after Prom. Janice was wearing a little tiara and a goofy expression, and Claire's hair was poking out every which way, but it was a snapshot from one of the best nights of her life, and every time she looked at it she could almost hear the music playing in the background as she danced. She hadn't seen or spoken to Janice in over two years, but just looking at that picture brought it all back in one giant wave.

Claire pushed the prom picture aside and reached for the frame beside it. It was of the Breakfast Club and it had been taken at the end of the summer, the week before she'd left for college. In the middle was Brian, who was trying not to laugh at John, who was sitting next to him, verbalizing his doubts about Andy's heterosexuality. On Brian's left was Andy, who was glaring at John and holding hands with Allison, who was the only one not making a goofy face for once. Claire was sitting to John's right, hand on his knee, rolling her eyes at the conversation going on around her. There had been another picture, one where everyone was looking at the camera and smiling (or, in John's case, smirking), but for some reason, Claire had preferred this one.

There were a million people she could have called, a million people she could have asked for comfort. She had only considered calling four of them and had settled on one. Why them, why him? She hadn't spoken to any of them in years. They didn't even know one another anymore.

Someone knocked very quietly on her door. Claire stepped away from her dresser and pulled her robe closer to her chest. "Come in."

The door opened very slowly and her father poked his head into the room. "Sweetie? Are you alright?"

Claire nodded. "I was just about to go to bed."

Her father gave her a warm smile. "I appreciate you coming home so quickly, Princess. You've been such a big help."

Claire returned the smile, wondering all the while what her father was really thinking. On the phone that morning, he'd sounded very calm. Serious, but calm. Even when she arrived home crying, he'd comforted her as though she were the only one grieving. Maybe that's what dads were supposed to do when a family member dies, comfort their kids and forsake their own grief, but she still wished that he would give her some clue as to how he was feeling. She knew her parents didn't have a great relationship when she was growing up, but part of her hoped that it had grown stronger after she left, when it was just the two of them all alone in that big house with no one there to fight over or get in the way. Judging by her father's ability to cover up his feelings, she'd probably never know.

"Well, get some sleep. We'll need to be at the funeral home early tomorrow to go over the details."

Claire swallowed deeply. "Okay."

Calvin Standish stepped forward and enveloped his daughter in a large hug. "It's good to have you home."

Claire felt the tears pricking the back of her eyes. "Thanks," she croaked.

Her father stepped back and gave her another smile. "Good night, sweetheart."

"Night, Daddy."

Mr. Standish walked back out into the hall and closed the door behind him. Claire stood there for a moment, dazed and tired, then went back over to her dresser and picked up the photo of the Breakfast Club once more. She stared at it for a long moment, memorizing the faces she hadn't seen in so long. There was a reason she'd thought to call them first, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it, couldn't quite form the words. She also wasn't sure how they'd react to her news or to her request. Brian was different, which was why she'd called him first, but what about Andy? What about Allison? What about…

Claire swallowed and ran her thumb over the glass just over the place where her hand rested on John's leg. It had been such a strange relationship, hers and John's, so unexpected and bumpy and short. They could never have been friends, that much was obvious. Right from the start, it was all or nothing with them. During the rest of the school year and the summer it was, in turns, a little bit of both, but in the end it was nothing. They'd parted ways on September 3rd, 1984, and hadn't said a word to one another since.

Claire put the photo back onto her dresser, then changed her mind and picked it up again. She walked over to her bed and placed the frame on her nightstand facing her bed. Then she crawled under the sheets and pulled the covers over her shoulders to fight off the cold. For a long time, she just stared at the picture of the five of them together, wondering if they could ever reclaim that as adults. After a while, she gave up and turned off the light.


	3. Comfortably Numb

A/N: I stole the title to this chapter from a Pink Floyd song.

I hate to give up the element of surprise here, but just so you know, Ohio State University does, in fact, have a wrestling program. The regular season ends during February and the finals go on through the middle of March. At this time, Andy would have been finished the season at least a couple of weeks previous.

And, just because I know she loves him so much, I'm dedicating this chapter to Hannah (Basket Case89). Hope you like it.

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Chapter Three: Comfortably Numb

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"How did you go bankrupt?"  
"Two ways. Gradually, and then suddenly."_  
-_Ernest Hemingway, _The Sun Also Rises_

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March 26, 1988  
Columbus, Ohio

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"Can you put those eggs in a separate bag? I'm afraid they'll get squashed in there with the milk."

Andy nodded and pulled a small plastic bag from below the counter. He put the eggs into the sack, then placed the sack into the cart beside him. "Do you need help out to your car, ma'am?"

"That would be wonderful. Thank you."

Andy pulled the cart away from the register and followed the woman out to her car, an old white Buick LaSabre with gleaming hubcaps and chipped paint on the doors. When he'd finished loading all of her groceries into the truck, she smiled and handed him a couple of quarters. "Thank you."

Andy nodded. "Thank you, ma'am. Have a nice day."

The woman nodded politely and unlocked the driver's side door. Andy grabbed the cart and started pushing it back into the store. There were a couple of stranded carts blocking the parking spaces, and he took those, too, knowing that he would get yelled at later if his manager saw them. He rolled the small line of carts back into the store and tucked them into a small alcove right next to the front entrance.

David, one of the cashiers, spotted Andy as he came back inside. "You getting off, man?"

Andy looked down at his watch. 6:03 P.M. He looked back up and nodded. "Yeah."

David, who was wearing a blue polo shirt identical to Andy's, started playing with his collar. "I'd hurry if I were you. Mr. Grump's shorthanded tonight and he'll probably force you to stay if he sees you."

Andy cringed. "Mr. Grump" was the employee nickname for Mr. Grunewald, their general manager, and he was called that for a reason… several of them, in fact. "Where is he?"

"In the back, yellin' at Jason for something he probably didn't do." David rolled his eyes. "Get out while you can, dude."

Andy nodded. "Thanks, man. I'll see you later."

David nodded. "Later."

Andy took David's advice and clocked out as quickly as he could. He left through the main entrance, just under red and yellow Giant Eagle sign. It was a cold day and the parking lot was slippery with ice. Andy fought off a shiver and climbed into the driver's seat of his light blue Chevy Silverado and turned on the ignition, then the heat. Nothing happened. He hit it a few times and flicked the switch again, but it still didn't come on.

"Shit." Andy sighed angrily and put the truck into Drive.

Ten minutes later, Andy pulled into carport area behind his apartment and cut the engine. He grabbed the sack of paper towels and laundry detergent he'd purchased just before his shift and started climbing the stairs. When he walked in, the first thing he noticed was the smell. He closed the door behind him and walked into the kitchen, where his roommate Paul was cooking something on the stove. "Hey."

Paul looked up. "Hey, you hungry?"

Andy shrugged. "Kinda."

Paul grabbed the bag with the paper towels from Andy's hand and ripped open the roll, immediately tearing off a sheet and wiping up a spill from the counter. "I was gonna make ribs, but we don't have any barbeque sauce." He grinned. "Or ribs."

Andy rolled his eyes. Paul was from Texas, and Andy figured he missed the barbeque more than he missed his own mother. The two had met during Andy's sophomore year when Paul joined the wrestling team as a freshman. They'd become fast friends and decided to room together that next year. This worked out well for Andy since Paul liked to cook and Andy couldn't make a pot of rice if his life depended on it.

"Anyway, all I could find were some frozen chicken breasts and a can of corn." He looked into the sack Andy had brought into the kitchen. "You didn't get any food?"

"I didn't have enough money."

Paul shrugged. "I figure if we need to, we can live off cereal and Ramen noodles. Or cannibalism."

Andy glared at him. Paul weighed in at approximately 280 pounds, making him eligible for the team's highest weight bracket. Unfortunately, it also meant that food was a bit scarce in the boys' apartment. "Maybe you should go shopping this time."

"I can go tomorrow." Paul cut off the stove and reached for a fork. "Get me some plates."

A few minutes later, the two of them sat down at the kitchen table and started eating. Andy wasn't all that hungry, but he forced himself to finish off at least half of the plate. The rest he scraped off onto Paul's. "I'm gonna try to get some schoolwork done."

Paul nodded and started mixing his pile of corn with the pile from Andy's plate. Andy dumped his plate in the sink and headed down the hall to his room. He pushed open his bedroom door and threw his letter jacket onto the seat of his desk chair, then undressed slowly, peeling off his blue polo and khaki pants and white sneakers, letting them fall into a pile at his feet. He threw on a light grey t-shirt over his boxers and plopped down on his bed, shifting around until he was flat on his back staring up at the ceiling. He lay there for a long time, not really thinking about anything, just breathing and staring and blinking.

He'd done a lot of breathing and staring and blinking over the past year, most of it when he was in bed just before he fell asleep… because he'd done a lot of that in the past year, too. Sleeping had become a new hobby, mostly because he was just so damn tired all of the time, even if he hadn't done a single thing all day. He'd sleep for a good nine or ten hours every night and wake up feeling even worse than when he'd gone to bed the night before. Sometimes he'd take naps that really weren't naps since they lasted for five or six hours apiece, longer if he had the time.

He didn't really know when it all started, but it must have been sometime during the fall semester. Everything had been going really well up until that point. He was on scholarship, so he didn't have to pay for anything except food and entertainment. The school even gave him an annual stipend to pay for his apartment, even though it was off campus. Wrestling was going well also. He wasn't the best guy on the team, but he was a good, solid wrestler and his coach was proud of him. School was kicking his butt a little bit, but that was to be expected since he was starting to take some upper level courses. He'd always been a fairly good student, making almost solid B's throughout high school, and he'd maintained that average in college, sometimes doing better, sometimes doing worse. Overall, things were looking up.

But then he started getting tired. Tired of wrestling, tired of school, tired of parties and friends and jobs and money. Just tired. He began skipping classes. Just one or two at first, then more and more as the weeks went by. He turned in some of his papers late, forgot to do his homework, didn't study for tests that he really needed to study for. Sometimes he'd pull out his textbooks and stare at the pages for hours without seeing anything at all. He wanted and needed to do well, but he just couldn't muster up the energy or concentration to try.

By the spring semester, his athletic performance had dropped. His coach called him into his office on several occasions, wondering if Andy needed to speak with the trainer or see a doctor. Andy said that he was fine, that he just needed to get a bit more sleep. It wasn't as though the school could do anything to him at that point. It was his last semester at Ohio State and they weren't about to pull the plug on his scholarship, no matter how badly he'd screwed up. Finally, the coach just stopped asking him about it, even when Andy started skipping practices.

His grades dropped even more as the weeks rolled on. This time, he didn't really care. In fact, he was finding it hard to care about anything anymore, even friends. He had lots of friends from the wrestling team and they had friends who had friends who threw parties that Andy somehow got invited to. During the first three years of college, Andy went to more parties than he could count. Everyday, he'd get a call from someone asking if he wanted to grab lunch or go out for a beer. At first, he started making excuses, telling them that he wasn't feeling well or that he needed to study or that he already had other plans. Then he just stopped picking up the phone.

The funny thing about people is that they don't like being rejected. You can turn them down once, twice, even half a dozen times, but after a while, they just give up and stop calling. Andy wasn't sure if he was glad that they'd stopped or not. In a way he was relieved because it meant that he wouldn't have to keep coming up with excuses. On the other hand, it made him feel incredibly alone. But wasn't that what he wanted, for people to just leave him alone, to stop asking him questions and to stop making him do things that he didn't care about in the first place?

He hated feeling alone, but most of all, he hated feeling _nothing_. He floated along, going through the motions, pushing his obligations to the side so that he could sleep longer and harder than the night before. He was graduating in two months, but he had no jobs lined up, no plans for the future. He didn't know what he was going to do for money or where he was going to live or work. He figured if it came down to it that he could ask for more hours at the Giant Eagle and live with Paul for the next year while Paul finished his senior year. His parents wouldn't be very pleased to hear those plans… but he didn't really care about that either.

Sometimes Andy wondered what he would do if someone told him something really horrible, like that one of his friends or members of his family had died. He knew that his initial reaction would be one of apathy and that worried him because he knew that wasn't normal. So sometimes he would lay in bed practicing what he would do if he were so ever get a call like that, just so he would know what he was supposed to feel and say.

But, as it is with most things in life, you can't plan for stuff like that.

----------

At about 9:30, Paul knocked on his door, jerking Andy out of his sleep. "Yeah?"

Paul opened the door and peeked in. His eyes narrowed when he saw Andy sprawled out, eyes half-closed. "Were you asleep?"

Andy sighed. "Yeah."

Paul nodded slowly. "Well, there's someone on the phone for you."

"Can you take a message?"

Paul hesitated. "Don't you even want to know who it is?"

Andy yawned. "Who?"

"He said he was a friend of yours. Brian Johnson."

Andy frowned. "Really?"

"Yeah."

Andy swung his legs over the side of the bed and followed Paul into the kitchen, where the phone was lying off the hook. "Hello?"

"Andy?"

"Yeah."

"Hey, it's Brian… Brian Johnson."

"Yeah, um… hey, man."

Brian paused for a moment. "Sorry, I know it's kind of weird that I'm calling after all this time, but I just talked to Claire and she asked me to call you."

Andy frowned. "Claire asked you to call?"

"Yeah. Her mother died."

Andy didn't really know what he was supposed to say to that. "Oh. That's… I'm sorry." He realized after he said it that he should be telling Claire that he was sorry and not Brian, but Brian didn't seem to notice.

"Yeah, she's pretty upset about it. It happened this morning so she hasn't had much time to process everything, you know?"

"Yeah."

"It was a heart attack, so it all happened really quickly. She didn't even get to say goodbye."

Andy, who was growing more and more uncomfortable as the conversation wore on, closed his eyes and nodded. "Yeah, that's sad."

"Anyway, the funeral's on Wednesday and she asked us to come."

Andy's eyes flew open. "What?"

Brian started speaking very quickly in an effort to explain himself. "Well, she wants all of us to be there, you know, to, like… be with her, or whatever. I think she doesn't really have anyone else, so she thought maybe we could…"

"Oh," was all Andy could say.

Brian hesitated. "So, um, it's on Wednesday."

"Okay." Was this the part where he was supposed to tell Brian that he'd be on the first flight out, ready and willing to comfort someone he hadn't seen in nearly four years? Andy felt a wave of anger roll through his body and he was too tired to keep it from seeping out into his voice. "So, what does she expect me to do?"

Brian paused uncertainly. "Well, um, I don't know. I think she was just hoping that we could, you know, come out and visit her if we could. But I'm sure you have school and wrestling and other stuff…"

Andy could tell that he'd hurt Brian's feelings and he felt a little bit guilty, but not really. "No, the season's over and it's spring break."

"Oh. Yeah, me, too. For spring break, I mean."

Andy rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I figured."

"Oh."

Andy sighed and leaned forward so that his elbows were on the counter and his head was resting in his hand. "So, I guess you're going."

"Well, yeah, I was planning on it."

"When are you leaving?"

"Tomorrow night, I think. I'm going to take a train, so it's going to be a long trip. I'll probably get into Illinois on Monday morning."

Damn, that was early. That meant that he'd be there for at least two days… which meant that he'd have to see his parents at some point. "Monday," he echoed.

"Yeah."

Andy let out a frustrated sigh. "Yeah, okay. I'll go."

If Brian sensed the anger in Andy's voice, he didn't show it. "Oh, great, I'm sure that Claire will really appreciate it."

Andy didn't really care if Claire appreciated it or not; he just wanted to get the conversation over with. "Yeah, probably, but I need to make a couple of phone calls if I'm going to be gone for so long, so I should get off the phone."

"Oh, yeah, of course. Sure. I'll let you go."

"Thanks. I'll see you later."

"Yeah, definitely. I'll see you in Shermer."

"Yeah, see you then." Andy hung up the phone before Brian could respond, anxious to get off of the phone before he could start asking him about what he'd been doing these last few years. Andy knew that there would be plenty of that when he got to Shermer and he didn't want to have to talk about it anymore than he had to.

Suddenly, it hit him that he was maybe going to see Allison again. Shit. She wouldn't come, would she? She was probably still holed up in New York somewhere, painting or drawing or doing something artistic like that. Maybe Brian didn't even have her number anymore. Maybe she'd moved and no one knew where she was. Maybe she would just say no, like he should have. Andy rubbed his eyes in frustration, wondering what the hell he'd gotten himself into.

"You okay, man?"

Andy look up at Paul, who was doing some schoolwork at the kitchen table. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Old friend?"

Andy sighed. "Yeah." He started to tell him about the trip back to Shermer, but stopped himself, too tired to get into the details. "I'm going back to bed."

Paul didn't say anything, just watched him very closely for a moment and nodded. Andy gave him a curt nod and trudged back to his room, closing his door and collapsing onto his bed. He didn't stop to stare at the ceiling this time, just closed his eyes as tightly as he could and turned over onto his side, trying to get comfortable. As he lay there, he thought about Claire and her mother, about how horrible she must be feeling if she was calling the four of them out of all the people she knew. Then again, it was Claire, who was used to asking for whatever she wanted and getting it. Maybe she'd called up all of her Prep Club friends, too. Hell, maybe she'd called the whole damn school.

Andy huffed loudly and adjusted the pillow under his head. He hated Claire for asking this of him and he hated Brian for going along with her demands. He hated them for asking him to have an emotional reaction to something he couldn't care less about if he tried. Most of all, he hated himself for hating them. He didn't used to be like this, he knew. There was something wrong with him, something he couldn't fix because he didn't know where it was broken.

Thankfully, he fell asleep before he had to think about it much longer.


	4. A Thicker Skin

A/N: Thanks for reading and reviewing. I appreciate all of the encouragement I've received to continue this story. For those of you reading 'Not As Easy': YES. The answer is yes. I will be posting another chapter as soon as I get rid of my writer's block and am able to write something that isn't worthless drivel.

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Chapter Four: A Thicker Skin

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**Saturday, March 26, 1988  
New York, New York

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Abe's Candy Store looked like something out of one of those television shows from the 1950's. It had a long wooden counter and see-through jars that were right at eye level so that all of the kids could admire the colorful candy inside. To top it all off, Abe's son Martin, who inherited the place after his father died, insisted that the shop's employees still wear the traditional "candy shop" hats like the man from _Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory_. Allison thought he was full of shit, but she didn't say that of course, partially because he was a nice man and partially because he signed her paychecks.

There hadn't been anyone in the store for the past thirty minutes and Allison wondered if her manager Mr. Jamison would let her off early that night. She stared at the wall clock, which had different types of candy representing each of the numbers. The hour hand was on the lollipop and the minute hand was halfway between the gumdrop and the peppermint. 7:42 P.M. She glanced outside, where two girls in fishnet stockings and short skirts were chatting casually, glancing around every few seconds to see if anyone was nearby.

"Allison?"

Allison glanced up to see Mr. Jamison poking his head out from the back room. "You can go if you want."

Allison nodded and he disappeared into the back room again. She stood from her perch behind the counter and untied her red and white apron, hanging it up on the row of metal hooks when she finished. Her coat was stuffed under the counter next to the radio and the first aid kit, and she grabbed it, along with three packs of Jelly Bellies that a customer had returned earlier that the store couldn't sell again, then headed outside.

It was a cold night and the first thing Allison did when she got out to the sidewalk was pull a scarf and gloves from the oversized pockets of her coat. She stood there under the flickering Abe's Candy sign watching the girls on the other side of the street tug at their pantyhose and chew bubblegum while they waited for someone to come by and pick them up. Finally, she picked up her Jelly Bellies again and started walking. It was dangerous for anyone, much less a 21-year-old female like herself, to walk by themselves after dark in a neighborhood like Alphabet City, but Allison had grown accustomed to the prostitutes and the drug dealers. When she'd first moved to the area during the fall of 1984, she ate dinner early and kept the doors locked between the hours of 7 P.M. and 7 A.M. Three years later, she just carried a can of mace and tried not to look like a tourist.

As she walked, Allison wondered vaguely what her parents would think if they could see her right then. She'd thought about that a lot during the past three years or so when a homeless man would sit down next to her on the subway or a guy with a razor blade in his ear would come up beside her in a club. She wondered if they would be worried about her, if their parental instincts would kick in for the first time in twenty-one years and they would visit to make sure she was okay, or at least call more than once a month.

When she'd moved, she'd done it mostly to get away from them. Part of it, of course, was that Andy was gone, but mostly it was her parents. There wasn't any reason for her to stay in a place like Shermer if there wasn't anyone that actually wanted her to be there. They hardly even blinked an eye when she told them she was leaving. Her father offered to take her to the train station and her mother bought her a pair of bright yellow mittens to fend off the cold. She left the mittens under her bed and called a taxi to pick her up.

New York wasn't anything she could have prepared for, mittens or not. It was a tough city and Allison was not a particularly tough person, at least not at eighteen years old. She spent her first night sleeping on a bench in Penn Station using her knapsack as a pillow and her duffel bag as a footrest. Looking back, it was a miracle nothing had been stolen. In fact, it was a miracle she'd managed to survive that first week without getting killed, raped, or mugged somewhere along the way. Finally she'd found a job and an apartment where she could go to sleep listening to David Bowie or Depeche Mode instead of the boarding call for the 8:40 from New York to Boston, but even so those first couple months were pretty rough. She had no friends, no family, no one besides her boss and her landlord that knew her by name. Even for someone who was used to being anonymous, it got a bit lonely. The only people she'd kept in touch with from Shermer were Brian and of course Andy, but by the spring of that next year she wasn't even in contact with them anymore. On days that she didn't work, it was possible, and even likely, that she wouldn't utter a single word all day because there was no one there to listen.

It took a while, but things got easier for her. Living alone in a big city takes practice and thick skin, and by the spring of 1985, she had both. She learned how to cook rice and chicken on a gas stove and how to get a guy to buy her a drink when she didn't have any cash. She learned which nightclubs had the cheapest covers and which alleyways to avoid at all costs, day or night. Most importantly, she learned how to stop thinking about the one person she couldn't seem to forget no matter how hard she tried.

After that, drug dealers and gang members were a breeze.

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Allison arrived at CBGB's at about 8:00, just as the opening band was getting warmed up. CBGB's was a local club that was famous for hosting early punk bands like Television, Blondie and the Ramones. It was crowded and loud and there was always music, though some of it was pretty lousy. On those nights, she would sit at one of the back tables to admire the posters that had been glued to the walls, one over another, and run her fingers over the old names and pictures.

On that particular Saturday night, the club seemed even fuller than usual, if that was possible. She pushed her way through the crowd, heading for the bar. She arrived just as a guy with a Mohawk and a nose ring downed the rest of his drink and stood from his seat, freeing up one of the stools. She claimed it immediately and leaned against the counter, waiting patiently.

After a moment, the bartender glanced over at her and she nodded once, confirming that she wanted her usual. The guy didn't even know her name, but he knew that he didn't even have to ask what she wanted to drink since it was the same every single time she came in. Allison pushed a wad of one dollar bills forward and he returned less than a minute later, placing her rum and Coke, topped off with two lime wedges, onto a small white napkin.

Allison squeezed the lime into the drink then turned around to watch the opening act, some local rock band doing a bunch of Led Zeppelin covers, but not a lot else. She took small sips of her drink, knowing it would probably be the only one she could afford that night, and bobbed her head in time to the music.

After she lost contact with Andy and Brian, Allison started going out to clubs at night. At first, it was because she liked the music and needed a place where she could go to forget about being lonely, if only for a couple of hours. After a while, she realized that clubs were nice because they reminded you that you weren't really alone, but they didn't force you to be social if you didn't want to be. Allison could sit by herself or dance by herself or get drunk by herself and not have to say a word to anyone. Because after a while, she realized that she actually didn't mind being alone. She got used to it again, just like she had in high school, and found that it wasn't so bad after all, especially when it was on purpose and not because everyone thought she was a witch.

The opening act finished up at about 9:30 just as Allison was finishing her drink. She wasn't really looking forward to the night's main attraction, some Seattle-based grunge group with long hair and torn flannel shirts. Reluctantly, she gave up her coveted seat at the bar and headed back outside into the cold.

When she got to her building, Allison took the stairs two at a time and ended up at the door of her fifth floor apartment shivering and out of breath. She shared the apartment with her roommate Cecilia, whom she'd met at the candy store when Cecilia had started working there in the summer of 1985. Even though Allison didn't give her any indication that she needed a friend, Cecilia had started talking to her as if they were best buddies and never stopped, even when she got fired for making out with one of the worker boys in the stock room. Allison agreed to let her stay with her and split the rent until Cecilia found a new job and could afford a place of her own. After three years, Allison had to assume that she wasn't leaving anytime soon.

The apartment was very small, but efficient, with a kitchen, a living room, a bathroom and two small bedrooms. Allison shared the bathroom, which was hardly bigger than a closet, with Cecilia and Cecilia's male friends, who stayed over all of the time without even asking. Many a morning had Allison wandered into the bathroom to get ready for work, only to find her toothpaste gone, the toilet seat up, and used shaving cream clinging to the sides of the sink.

Allison walked through the living room, stepping over a huge stack of Cecilia's trashy romance novels, and pulled off her gloves, which she let fall onto the couch as she passed. When she got to her room, she tugged off her scarf and jacket and shoes and threw them into a pile at the foot of her bed. The first thing she did was pull a handful of tapes from a box on top of her dresser, sifting through them until she settled on Joan Baez's _Diamonds and Rust_.

She had just finished changing into a pair of men's boxer shorts and a t-shirt when the phone rang. She hardly ever answered her phone, but she walked into the kitchen anyway so that she could screen the call. As the automated messaged droned on, she poured herself a glass of water and leaned back against the counter. Finally, the machine beeped and a very familiar voice came onto the line.

"Uh, Allison? It's Brian. Brian Johnson…"

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A/N: I'll try to have the next chapter, John's, posted as soon as possible, though I don't know when that will be. Have patience, please. : ) Thanks. 


	5. Your Wildest Dreams

A/N: The title of this song comes from a Moody Blues song which is referenced throughout the chapter. I had a couple of lines of lyrics included in the text, but have since removed them.

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Chapter Five: Your Wildest Dreams

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"You can't get away from yourself by moving from one place to another."  
Ernest Hemingway, _The Sun Also Rises

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**Sunday, March 27, 1988  
Chicago, Illinois

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"Thanks. Have a good night."

Bender nodded and watched the car pull away from the booth, its brake lights flashing red for an instant as the driver stopped at the end of the driveway to check for oncoming traffic. After a couple of seconds, the car pulled out onto the road and drove away. Bender settled back onto his stool and stared out across the parking garage at the rows of spaces that had been full not thirty minutes before. There were only a few cars left at 12:15 A.M., which meant that he'd be able to go home soon.

Another car pulled up to his booth with the windows rolled down and 'Your Wildest Dreams' by the Moody Blues blaring from the speakers. Bender sighed and stood from the stool as the driver, a small, balding man with wire-rimmed glasses, held out a five dollar bill.

"Do you have your ticket?"

The man stared back at him blankly for a second, then said, "Oh, right." He pulled out his wallet and started searching through the pockets. Bender stood there as patiently as he could, fighting the urge to just let the man leave, if only so that he wouldn't have to listen to that horrible song.

"I know it's in here somewhere."

Bender nodded and rubbed his hands together under the metal counter. It was damn cold in Chicago during the winter, especially at night, and the glass cage they called a ticket booth did virtually nothing to keep the cold out. Bender wished they would let him smoke, at least during the slow periods when no one was coming in or out of the garage, but the best he could do was a ski cap and a pair of gloves.

"Is this the right one?"

Bender glanced over at the bald man, who was holding up a pale blue ticket for Bender to inspect. Bender shook his head. "No, sir. It's red."

The man sighed and continued his search. Without meaning to, Bender began tapping his foot along with the song playing, growling softly when he realized what he was doing. He hated the Moody Blues, not only because they were a crappy band, but also because their songs got stuck in his head whether he wanted them to or not.

"This one?" The man held up a small red ticket and Bender nodded, accepting it and the five dollar bill.

"Good night."

The man waved and drove away from the booth, his taillights blinking goodbye as he left. Bender could still hear the radio blasting, even when the car pulled out onto the street and drove off into he night.

He was going to have that song stuck in his head for the rest of the night.

About twenty minutes and six cars later, Bender's boss came out to the ticket booth and told him to go home. Bender watched him check the money, then stepped out of the booth and into the garage.

The first thing he did when he got out onto the street was pull out a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket. He stood there on the sidewalk for a moment, lighting a stick and taking a few drags. After a couple of minutes, he stuffed the pack into his pocket and started walking down the street.

Bender had only lived in Chicago for about three years, but he still had a hard time remembering what it was like to live anywhere else. Even Shermer seemed like a distant memory at times, mostly because he hardly ever went out there anymore. When he did, it was only to visit his old roommate C.J. and some of his friends from the neighborhood. He never went back to his parents' house, or even considered it. The last time he saw either of them was sometime in October of 1984. He'd walked into the living room with a duffel bag over one shoulder and a pillow stuffed under one arm. His mother just stared at him from her seat at the dining room table, but his father didn't even look up from the television. He walked outside, climbed into C.J.'s truck, and shut the door behind him. He never looked back.

His parents weren't all that upset about it, apparently, because they never tried to get in touch with him. Even when his mother died in the spring of 1987, he heard about it from C.J. instead of his father, who was probably too drunk to remember that he even had a son, much less that he needed to tell him that the woman who gave birth to him had died of cancer. Bender wondered what he would have done if he had known his mother was sick while she was still alive, if he would have gone to visit her or not. Maybe he would have, if only for a few minutes, just so he could see her one last time. Maybe, but maybe not. He didn't even go to the funeral.

Not long after he moved in with C.J., Bender dropped out of school and got a job with an electrical repair company down the street from the apartment. The apartment wasn't all that far away from his old house, but the distance didn't matter. He was on his own for the first time in nineteen years and it felt pretty damn good.

After a while, Bender grew tired of Shermer. He moved out of C.J.'s place and into a tiny, smelly, rat-infested room they called an "efficiency" in downtown Chicago. Bender didn't know what was so efficient about it, especially since the oven was broken and the heater only worked if he kicked it every once in a while. The apartment was only one room with a small kitchen, an even smaller bathroom, and a bed that he had to pull out of the wall every time he wanted to sleep. One morning he borrowed C.J.'s pick up truck and drove around Shermer's middle class neighborhoods right before the trash man started his rounds. He ended up with two end tables, two sofa chairs (one of them had a huge rip down the middle, but was in otherwise perfect condition), a couch, a rectangular dinner table with a missing leg (easily fixable), and three wooden chairs taken from three different houses. His apartment was complete.

Jobs were a different story. He started out working as a waiter in a little Italian restaurant, but that didn't work out as well as he might have hoped. He got fired when he told a customer that she might want to lay off the fried foods because they would go straight to her already voluminous hips. After that, he went through five jobs in as many months. There was the gas station, where he'd gotten in trouble for smoking a cigarette while he was on the clock…outside by the pumps. Next came the convenience store, then the grocery store, then the record store. Retail was definitely not the place for him, he decided. Too many people ordering him around. Next up was the snack shack at the mall, where he ran into more giggling teenagers with Daddy's credit card than he could stomach. He only lasted a week at that one.

Finally, he decided to go back to electrical repair. He was good at it and the hours were flexible. His old boss gave him a good recommendation and he got hired at a small company that operated out of a little building down the street from his apartment. After a year or so, he got a second job at the parking garage handing out ticket stubs to people going to see baseball games and operas, and he worked there every Friday, Saturday and Sunday evening from five until about midnight.

So, there he was, three years later, living the dream life. He hung out at shit hole bars and worked for a shit hole repair company and went home to a shit hole apartment. He didn't have a lot of money and what he did have he spent on rent, food, cigarettes and beer. His walls smelled like pee and his bathroom smelled like crap and his mattress smelled like a combination of the two. He had no family, only a handful of friends, and no pets except for the giant rat that lived under his bed and left shit pellets in his cereal boxes.

It had been the best three years of his entire life.

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Bender arrived back at his apartment building a little after 1 A.M. He was working on his third cigarette by then, even though they were doing little to fend off the intense cold. He pushed open the broken metal gate and threw his cigarette onto the concrete floor, using the tip of his boot to put it out.

When he got to his apartment, he tossed his jacket onto the couch and went into the kitchen for something to eat. There wasn't much in the way of real food, but he found a box of cookies and ate a handful of them, washing them down with a cup of milk. He stood there for a moment at his kitchen counter with the box of cookies in one hand and the glass of milk in the other, staring at the wall. When he'd finished eating, he walked back into the living room, where his answering machine was lit up like a Christmas tree. He pushed the blinking green button and listened to the first message, which was from Joe, his boss at the repair company, asking him if he could take a job on Sunday afternoon. Bender pushed Delete and moved on to the last message.

"Bender, man, it's C.J. Listen, some guy called for you over here at the apartment. Sounded kinda weird if you ask me. Nervous, you know? Didn't wanna give him your new number, but I told him I'd pass the message along, so here it is. His name is, uh, let's see…Brian Johnson. He said that Clara's…no, _Claire_'s mom died and that she wants everyone to come back to Shermer for the funeral on Wednesday. He left his number for you to call him, but he said he'll only be there until Sunday morning because he's taking the train back. His number is…617-495-8213. And I think that's it, but give me a call if you need to crash here. Catch you later, man."

There was a bit of rustling on C.J.'s end before the message cut off and the answering machine beeped loudly, signaling that he had no further messages to listen to. Bender stood very still for a moment, staring at the machine and taking deep breaths. After a moment, he reached out to push Delete, but stopped himself just in time. He ran a hand through his short, dark hair and sighed.

_Once upon a time…_

Goddamn it.


	6. Sleepless Nights

A/N: Thanks for all of the lovely reviews. Now that you know what everyone's been up to, I guess it's time to stir the pot a bit, no? Multi-character chapters from here on out, yay.

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**Chapter Six: Sleepless Nights**

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Brian didn't go to bed on Saturday night. 

This wasn't unusual at all; in fact, it would have been unusual if he _had_ gotten any rest, particularly under the circumstances, because sometime during his sophomore year, Brian stopped sleeping. Not entirely, of course, but close enough. It started with a couple of all-nighters, which every college student experiences at some point or another. He'd stay up all night to write a paper or study for a big test, then take a long nap or get to bed extra early the next night. But as his all-nighters became more and more frequent, it became harder and harder for him to get to sleep every night. He tried, _really _tried. He would lay there with his eyes closed, trying to think pleasant, sleepy thoughts. When that wouldn't work, he would start thinking about all of the things he had to do the next day, all of the papers he had to write, all of the research he had to do, all of the books he had to read. Every night there was something different to worry about, something new to keep his brain active and awake.

After a while he just gave in. Instead of lying in bed for hours and hours without rest, he just stayed up and got work done for his classes. He knew other students who relied on coffee and soda to get them through the night, others on caffeine tablets. Some used more organic remedies like ginseng and B vitamins for mental alertness. He even knew some students that took large amounts of Sudafed, or in some cases speed and similar drugs, to stay awake and study. Brian didn't have to rely on anything artificial to stay awake; it just came naturally, as it were.

So he stayed up nearly every night, usually sleeping only once or twice a week for a couple of hours at a time. The rest of his time was spent studying, reading, and writing papers. It was an advantage, really. His grades had improved slightly over the past year, and he attributed that improvement to all of his free time.

On Saturday night, he spent a couple of hours making phone calls. He did his best to get in touch with the Breakfast Club, but wasn't sure if Allison or Bender would get his messages on time, or at all. He'd called his father, who offered to wire him money for a train ticket to Illinois, then Amtrak to reserve a seat on the 12:10 train from Boston to Chicago. He spent the rest of the night doing laundry and finishing up _Pride and Prejudice_. All in all, a productive evening.

At about 7:00 in the morning, Nathaniel walked into the kitchen wearing a button-down shirt and navy trousers and carrying a thick leather Bible under one arm. "You still awake?"

Brian looked up from the pile of laundry he was folding. "Uh, yeah. Just getting packed, you know?"

Nathaniel nodded and went over to the pantry for the coffee grounds. "Well, I guess you can always sleep on the train. That's a long trip, isn't it?"

Brian nodded. "22 hours."

Nathaniel took a coffee filter from the cabinet above his head and measured out enough grounds for a pot. "When do you get to Illinois?"

"About 9:00 in the morning." Brian started to say something else, then changed his mind and went back to folding clothes. When he finished his pile, he looked up to see Nathaniel pouring himself a cup of coffee. "I'm sorry I'm not going with you guys to the beach house," he said.

Nathaniel looked up at him and shrugged. "It's okay. We'll just go again during the summer."

Brian nodded slowly and looked back down at his stacks of clothes. "Yeah, that sounds good."

Nathaniel removed a second mug from the cabinet above his head and held it out to Brian. "Coffee?"

* * *

Allison sat on the floor in her bedroom, staring at the floor.

She'd been up practically all night long, thinking about what it would be like to go back to Shermer for the first time in more than three years. When she'd first gotten the call, her immediate reaction was negative. Of course she wouldn't go. There was no reason.

But Allison was good at telling when people were lying, even if that person was herself.

When she first moved out to New York, Allison had talked with Andy on the phone at least three times a week, sometimes for several hours at a time. She wished over and over again that he would come visit her in New York, just so she could see him for a little while and make sure that he was real. She missed him so fiercely that, at times, she would imagine him lying in bed next to her, sprawled out with one hand over his stomach and the other tucked under the pillow, his chest rising and falling with each measured breath.

When it ended, and of course it did, she didn't really think it was the end. For a while, she thought that their breakup was temporary and that he'd finally come to visit her or she would travel out to Ohio and they would pick up right where they'd left off. She felt so silly afterward when she realized that it really wasn't going to work out, that high school relationships, particularly those between two people as different as Andy and herself, didn't last forever. She remembered the night that she finally realized that he would never call her again. She was lying on her bed, curled up in a ball facing the wall, when an overwhelming wave of sadness rolled over her. She was so stunned that she couldn't even cry.

She didn't cry the next day either, or the day after that. Eventually, that sharp, cold pain grew into a dull ache, and she stopped thinking about him every time she saw someone kissing or ate a ham and cheese sandwich or breathed. She hadn't felt that way about anyone since and wondered if she ever would, or if it only happened once in your life and if you screwed it up, then tough luck. It occurred to her that this was a very romantic line of thinking and that she was not, by nature, a very romantic person. Perhaps love made everyone hopeless romantics, or fools, whichever the case may be.

So, she was going back to Shermer. It was arguably the stupidest decision she'd ever made, but she decided that everyone was entitled to at least a couple of stupid decisions during their lifetime and that now was as good a time as any to make one more. The only problem was, she didn't have any money. Her job at the candy store didn't pay incredibly well, so she didn't have anything saved. Taking off work for an entire week wasn't really an issue, as she'd already called Martin, the owner, and told him that she had a family emergency. He'd assured her that he would take care of her shifts and that she should go ahead and take care of business without worrying about work.

She almost felt bad…but not really.

So, there was the issue of rent and, of course, the price of a train ticket. She'd already called Amtrak and reserved a seat on the 7:00 train from New York to Chicago, which would arrive at approximately 2:45 on Monday afternoon. The price of the ticket was $62.00, which she added to the $70.00 she would need to leave Cecilia to pay for that week's rent. Plus, she would probably need to eat at some point during the week.

That meant that she needed about $150.00, if not more, and she needed it before 7:00 that evening. She knew of only one way of getting her hands on that kind of cash, as it was the same way she'd collected enough money to afford the first week's rent on the apartment before she'd gotten her job at the candy store.

Allison stood up from the floor, grabbed her coat, and walked out of the apartment.

* * *

At about 9:00, Brian went over to Rebecca's apartment. Rebecca was in the shower, but her roommate let him in and he went into her room to wait for her. He plopped down on her bed, tucked a pillow under his head, and pulled out _David Copperfield_, the next book on the list for his British Literature class. He had been reading for about ten minutes when the door opened and Rebecca stepped into the room wearing nothing but a towel. Brian immediately looked away. "Uh, sorry. I know I didn't call, but I, uh, I didn't know I'd be coming over. Jessica let me in. I thought I could just wait for you in here."

"It's okay. Just, um… just give me a minute."

Brian nodded and went back to his book. Even though he'd seen his girlfriend naked dozens of times, he still got embarrassed when he found her underwear lying around, and he always slipped on his boxers before getting out of bed in the morning when she slept over. Rebecca was pretty shy about those things as well, which she exemplified by getting dressed in the closet.

A couple of minutes later, Rebecca walked out, fully dressed, and sat down on the bed next to him. "So, what are you doing here? I thought you weren't coming over until later."

Brian took a deep breath, then leaned back against the headboard. "Claire called."

Rebecca furrowed her brow in concern. Brian had told her about the Breakfast Club, so Rebecca knew who he was talking about. "What did she say?"

Brian looked down at his book, but didn't focus on the words. "Her mother died. She asked me to go back to Shermer for the funeral."

Rebecca just watched him. "Are you going?"

Brian nodded.

"What about Jonathan's beach house?"

"I already told him I wasn't going. The funeral's on Wednesday and I think I'll be there all week."

Rebecca paused. "Are you going to stay with your parents?"

Brian took a deep breath. "Maybe, I don't know. Claire said all of us could stay with her if we wanted, so I may do that."

"How are you going to get there?"

"Train. I leave at noon today."

Rebecca paused. "Oh."

"I'll get into Shermer tomorrow morning. I talked to Andy and he said…" Brian paused, remembering his conversation with Andy that morning before he'd left for Rebecca's apartment. "He said he'd pick me up from the station, but…"

"But what?"

Brian sighed. "I don't think this is going to go very well."

"Why not?"

"Because it's already going wrong. I can't get in touch with Allison or Bender and Andy doesn't want to go in the first place. Nobody wants to be there."

"What about you?"

Brian hesitated. "Yeah, I want to be there," he said quietly.

Rebecca didn't say anything else, just scooted her closer to him and put a hand on his leg. Brian closed the book and tossed it onto the floor next to the bed, then rolled over so that he was halfway on top of her, and looked down at her face. "What if everyone starts yelling at each other?"

"I don't know."

"What if they all hate me?"

"Why would they hate you?"

"I don't know, but they might."

Rebecca reached up and ran her fingertips over his cheek. "Everything's going to be okay."

Brian paused. "You think?"

Rebecca nodded. "Yeah," she said softly.

Brian just looked at her for a minute, then leaned down to kiss her. He felt Rebecca's hands at his waist, then his chest. After a few minutes, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer against her body. Brian slid all the way on top of her and propped himself up on his elbows, running his fingers over her long, wet hair and breathing in the smell of her coconut-scented shampoo. She shifted to accommodate him, and he kept kissing her. A few minutes later, he felt her hands at the waistband of his trousers, unzipping his pants.

* * *

Allison's neighborhood, Alphabet City, which was named for Avenues A, B, C, D, etc., was more dangerous in some areas than others. There was a saying that she'd learned when she moved there that she still found incredibly accurate. It went: 'Avenue A, you're alright; Avenue B, you're brave; Avenue C, you're crazy; and Avenue D, you're dead." Fortunately, Allison lived at the corner of Avenue A and East 6th street, which meant that she was alright, for the most part.

Still, she was always surprised, when she left Alphabet City, to find how different the rest of New York was from her neighborhood. For instance, it had stores. Not crummy stores like Abe's Candy or thrift stores like the one across the street from her apartment, but real stores like Saks and Macy's and Lord & Taylor.

It was Saks that she was standing in front of at that particular moment, right at the corner of 5th Avenue and 48th Street. It was a nice, expensive store, and she didn't dare set foot inside for fear that she'd be kicked out before she could touch anything. It was ironic in a way, because her mother used to drag her along on shopping trips to stores like that back when Allison was in elementary school. Once, Allison tried to reorganize the dress department by color and had gotten hauled off to the customer service department, where she had to wait for thirty minutes before her mother showed up to claim her. It was the last time she ever went shopping with her mother at a store like that.

After a moment, Allison tore her eyes away from the building and turned to her left, immediately bumping into a woman carrying half a dozen shopping bags along with a large, expensive purse hanging from one shoulder. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said, picking up one of the bags.

The woman snatched the bag out of Allison's hand and readjusted her belongings. "It's fine," she said stiffly. Without even looking in Allison's direction, she continued her march down Fifth Avenue towards the Lord &Taylor.

Allison watched the woman until she was nearly half a block away, then ran her hand over the bulge in her jacket pocket, just the size of a small, fat wallet, and started walking in the opposite direction.

She didn't even feel guilty.

* * *

A/N: Got some of my New York info from wikipedia dot com, AKA the most useful web site on the planet.  
I'm sure this goes without saying, but I'll say it anyway. Insomnia is NOT healthy and can have really serious side effects, regardless of how it affects a person's ability to do schoolwork. Brian is operating under the impression that his grades are more important than his health, which is not true. I also don't recommend using any kind of drug to stay awake for any reason, unless you are instructed to do so by a doctor. Nor do I recommend that you reorganize the dresses at any department store…because I did that once when I was little and got yelled at by the sales lady. Anyway, do I need to keep going? Don't steal other people's wallets or sleep in train stations or walk through strange cities all alone at night or try to pierce your ear with a razor blade or…  
Please review. Thank you. 


	7. Making Arrangements

A/N: Thanks for reading and reviewing. : )

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Chapter Seven: Making Arrangements

* * *

Andy was woken up at 8:30 on Sunday morning by Paul, who told him that he had yet another phone call from Brian. This time, it was to ask if Andy would be able to pick him up from the train station in Chicago on Monday morning.

"I would ask one of my parents, but they have to work and I didn't want to bug Claire, so…"

Andy sighed and rubbed the sleep out of one eye. "Yeah, okay. What time?"

"It pulls in at 8:40."

Andy hesitated. "In the morning?"

"Uh, yeah."

It was a six hour drive from Columbus to Chicago, which meant that he'd need to leave at about 2 A.M. Andy shook his head. "Okay."

"Hey, thanks. I really appreciate it."

"Yeah, no problem," Andy muttered sleepily. "I'll see you then."

"Okay. See you tomorrow."

"Okay, bye." Andy hung up the phone and groaned out loud. He hadn't planned on leaving until Monday afternoon, which would have put him in Illinois sometime that night. Now, he would not only have to be in Shermer longer than he wanted to, but he would also have to get up in the middle of the night to drive for six hours in the dark.

At that moment, he hated Brian more than he'd ever hated anyone in his life.

Andy went back to bed and woke up at about 11:00. He took a shower and got dressed and walked into the kitchen at about 11:30 to find Paul standing at the counter making himself a couple of ham and cheese sandwiches. When he saw Andy, he grinned. "Hey, I went shopping."

Andy looked around the kitchen to see paper bags scattered all over the floor, some of them full and others empty. "Yeah, I can tell."

"I got a bunch of sandwich meat and some chips and cookies and stuff and then I got some hamburger meat because I thought maybe we could make hamburgers out on the grill sometime and-"

"We don't have a grill."

Paul nodded. "I know, but I'm sure we can find someone who has one. The guy a couple doors down is always cooking something outside. He'll probably let us borrow it."

Andy frowned. "What, you're just going to go ask for it and expect him to say yes?"

Paul shrugged. "Sure, why not? I mean, I'm not gonna send you down there to do it. One look at your sour face and he'd say no right away. I, on the other hand, happen to be very charming." Andy scowled at him, but before he could say anything, Paul went on. "Plus, I got…" He reached down into a sack by his foot and pulled out a bottle of barbeque sauce. "Barbeque sauce! So, we can make ribs."

"Did you get ribs?"

Paul nodded. "And chicken. We'll have a barbeque. Tomorrow night maybe."

Andy sighed. "I can't tomorrow night."

"Why? Hot date?"

Andy shook his head. "I'm going back to Shermer."

Paul stopped making his sandwich and looked up at him. "Really? When'd you decide that?"

"Last night. This girl I knew in high school, a friend…her mother died and she wants me to come back for the funeral."

Paul nodded. "Were y'all close?"

Andy shrugged. "There were a few of us that hung out together during that last semester. She invited all of us, apparently. Like it's some fucking reunion or something." Andy knew that he sounded insensitive, but he didn't care.

Paul didn't say anything for a minute. Finally, he held got a plate down from the counter above him and looked over at Andy. "Want a sandwich?"

Andy nodded. "Yeah, okay."

Paul took out a couple of pieces of bread and started preparing the sandwich. "How long will you be there?"

"I don't know. I leave tonight. Or, this morning. Probably about 2 A.M."

Paul whistled. "Take some coffee with you."

"Yeah, no kidding."

"You gonna stay with your parents?"

"I don't know," Andy answered truthfully. He hadn't actually talked to his parents yet, and he dreaded telling them that he was going back, only because he knew that his mother would want to see him as soon as he got in and his father, now that the wrestling season was over, would want to ask how his grades were and what his plans were for after graduation. Andy could practically feel the walls moving in on him before he even arrived. Maybe he wouldn't have to tell them just yet. Maybe he could wait until Tuesday and then just show up on their doorstep like it was a surprise or something. At least it would give him an extra day.

Paul handed him the plate and wiped his hand off on a napkin. "Well, the barbeque can always wait until you get back."

"Why can't we just do it tonight?"

Paul picked up his sandwich again. "I'm going out with some guys for Jacob's birthday." He looked over at Andy. "You should come. It'll be fun."

Andy felt his stomach turn over at the idea of hanging out with guys he'd hadn't seen since wrestling season ended. "Uh, that's okay. I need to pack and make plans and stuff, so I probably won't have time."

Paul nodded. "Okay, but if you change your mind, we're going to the Black Dog. We'll probably get there at about 9:00."

Andy nodded, though he knew he wouldn't make it. "Yeah, thanks. I'll keep that in mind."

* * *

Claire sat at a small circular table, staring down at pictures of flower arrangements. She had been sitting in the exact same spot for the past two and a half hours, signing papers, writing out lists, making decisions. She'd never been so tired in her whole life.

"There are more samples on the other side…yes, there you are."

Claire looked up at Mr. Peterson, the funeral home director. "What do you suggest?" she asked, not wanting to shuffle through eighteen more pages of bouquets.

Mr. Peterson reached out and pointed at a picture of pink roses and white lilies flowing over a honey-toned casket. "This one is nice, especially if you wanted to go with a spring look."

It sounded like he was talking about a piece of clothing. Claire nodded. "Alright."

"There's also this one over here…" He flipped the page and pointed at a dark wooden casket topped with red roses. "It's simple, but very elegant. It all depends on what you would like for your mother."

Claire thought about her mother's closet, filled with expensive dresses and tailored dress suits. She remembered watching her get dressed for her father's company's annual Christmas party when Claire was only eight. Her mother was a beautiful woman anyway, but when she slipped on that dark green evening gown, Claire thought she had to be the most beautiful person in the entire world.

Claire swallowed and pointed at the picture of the red roses. "That one," she said firmly.

Mr. Peterson nodded. "Excellent choice. Those will look lovely with the walnut casket you chose earlier."

Claire nodded again, but didn't say anything. She glanced at her watch. 10:42. Her brother's flight would land any minute, and her father had left a couple of hours earlier to pick him up. She wished that he could have sent someone else to do it so that he could be there with her to make all of these decisions, but at the same time, she didn't want her brother to be greeted by a total stranger when he arrived in Chicago for their mother's funeral.

"Okay, now we can move on to the service itself."

Claire sighed. "Alright."

Mr. Peterson pulled out his lined yellow notepad and started making a list. "Do you have a minister that you would like to use?"

Claire shook her head. "We didn't really go to church."

Mr. Peterson nodded. "That's fine. I can arrange that for you. I can also take care of the organist, if you'd prefer."

Claire nodded. "Yes, thank you."

Mr. Peterson jotted down a few more notes, then looked up again. "Now, did your mother have any favorite hymns that you would like to have played during the service?"

Claire paused, trying to remember if her mother had ever mentioned something like that before. "I…I don't know."

Mr. Peterson nodded. "That's alright. What about Bible verses, or poems? Something that reminds you of your mother, something she liked?"

Again, Claire was at a loss. "I don't know that either." She looked unnecessarily at the seat next to her. "My father might know, but he's not here. He had to pick up my brother, but maybe I can call him or…" Suddenly, Claire felt incredibly alone. She didn't want to be planning her mother's funeral in the first place, but she especially didn't want to do it by herself without anyone sitting beside her.

Without warning, tears pricked the back of her eyes and started spilling over onto her cheeks. She wanted her dad to be there with her, to tell her the stories she didn't remember, to be in charge and make the decisions she didn't want to make. Most of all, she just didn't want her mother to be gone. There were so many things she didn't know about her, and now she wouldn't even be able to ask.

"You don't have to know all of these things."

Claire looked up at Mr. Peterson, who was sitting calmly on the other side of the table, holding out a box of Kleenex. "Why don't we stop here for today? I'll call the minister and the organist, and you can speak with you father, and we'll meet back here in the morning."

Claire managed a brief nod and stood up from her chair. "Thank you."

The older man nodded. "You're welcome."

* * *

Allison arrived back at her apartment at about 11:00 to find Cecilia curled up on the couch with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders and a box of tissues sitting on the cushion beside her. When Allison stepped into the apartment, Cecilia looked up, her eyes red from crying. Allison frowned. "What happened?"

Cecilia shook her head in disbelief. "He died."

Allison narrowed her eyes in confusion and Cecilia pointed at the television screen, which Allison hadn't even noticed was on. "Richard. He…he died of a broken heart."

Allison walked over to the couch, where she had a clear view of the television screen. It was one of those sappy, tragic love stories with slow fade-outs and swelling orchestras. A handsome man with dark hair was walking towards a beautiful woman in a Victorian dress, and they met on a cloud as the closing music started playing. "What is this?"

"_Somewhere In Time_," said Cecilia, wiping a smudge of mascara from under one eye. "This guy falls in love with a woman from another century and he goes back in time to be with her, but-"

"How does someone fall in love with a person from another century?"

"He sees her picture. She's really, really beautiful," said Cecilia, as if this explained everything. "So, anyway, he goes back in time to be with her and they fall in love and, but then he ends up back in his own time again and he can't go back and he stops eating and dies of a broken heart."

Allison just stood there, staring at the screen. She couldn't for the life of her understand the appeal of movies like that. Wasn't the world sad enough as it was?

"So, what did you do today?"

Allison looked away from the television screen and over at her roommate. "Went on a walk."

"Oh, that sounds like fun."

Allison didn't confirm her assumption. It hadn't been all that fun, to be honest. In high school, she stole things because it made her feel good, as though the item she was taking held the key to her eventual freedom. When she moved to New York and stealing meant the difference between sleeping in a train station or a locked apartment, the thrill disappeared rather quickly.

Allison moved past Cecilia and sat down on the armchair next to the couch. "I'm leaving tonight to go back home."

Cecilia looked over at her. "Really? Why?"

Allison hesitated. "To see some friends."

Cecilia watched her for a moment. "It's a guy, isn't it?"

Allison blinked, but didn't say anything, and Cecilia grinned. "It's a guy!" She started laughing. "An ex-boyfriend, isn't it? I'm right, aren't I? Tell me I'm right."

Allison just stared back, keeping her face blank.

"You need a battle plan if you're going to win him back, Allison. Some low-cut tops and some sexy perfume. I know you don't like wearing that kind of stuff, but, trust me, it works. I'll let you borrow some of mine." She grinned slyly. "You'll have him back in bed in no time."

Allison didn't respond to that. She ran her hand over one of the many bulges in her jacket and looked back up at the television, where a gigantic jar of pasta sauce was dancing with a bowl of spaghetti and singing a cheesy theme song with an Italian accent. "I have money for rent. I'll leave it on the kitchen counter."

Cecilia nodded distractedly as the pasta commercial ended and previews for the next movie started playing. "Oh, _Love Story_. Isn't that the one where the girl dies at the end? It's so sad. Stay and watch it with me."

Allison didn't answer, just stood from her chair and walked back to her bedroom to get packed.

* * *

Claire arrived home from the funeral home at about 11:30, hungry and tired. She knew that it was a bit early for lunch, but she wondered if she could sneak a few of those chocolate chip cookies she'd sampled the night before. She walked into the kitchen and threw her purse and coat onto the kitchen table, then walked over to the counter, where the glass platter was sitting, empty except for a few crumbs. She sighed angrily. There was half a plate left when she'd walked in that morning for breakfast! Did Sandra put them somewhere else?

"If you're looking for the cookies, don't bother."

Claire whirled around to see her brother Daniel standing in the doorway, smiling sadly. "Airline food tastes like shit. I couldn't help myself."

Claire didn't say anything, just ran over to him and threw her arms around his neck. He caught her easily, and she clung to him for a long time, burying her face in his shoulder and crying all over his dark red sweater. When she finally let go, Daniel just stood there as she wiped away her tears.

"I got your sweater wet," she said finally.

"That's okay. It's just cashmere."

Claire let out a little laugh as a fresh wave of tears poured out. She wiped them away hastily and smiled up at him. "Hi," she said tearfully.

"Hi."

"When did you get here?"

"A few minutes ago. Dad's around here somewhere."

"How was your flight?"

"Long. How are you?"

Claire shrugged. "Oh, you know…"

"Because you look like shit."

Claire scoffed. "Gee, thanks."

"You're welcome."

Claire rolled her eyes. "Is this why you came back? To make fun of me?"

Daniel shrugged. "Maybe."

Claire laughed once more, wiping her cheeks. "Good."

* * *

A/N: Just to clear things up, Brian doesn't necessarily choose to stay up at night. Insomniacs can't help but stay awake, even if they're really tired (which, they are). I had a friend that would only get one hour of sleep per week, even though the one thing he wanted more than anything was a full night's rest. So Brian's only fault here really is that he sees it as an advantage and isn't seeking treatment, not that he started doing it on purpose in the first place, because he didn't. In Brian's case, his insomnia is caused by stress and anxiety, which he probably doesn't realize.

And yes, the saying about Alphabet City in the last chapter was real, though it doesn't necessarily apply to Alphabet City today since a lot of artistic, yuppie types live in the area now. Back in the 1980's, it was a crummy neighborhood, full of prostitutes and drug addicts and whatnot.


	8. The Road To Nowhere

A/N: I know that my character sections have been a bit uneven so far, giving some characters more sections than others. It will even out a bit as I get deeper into the story, but some characters just have more action right now than others.

Anyway, thanks to everyone who reviewed. I really appreciate your thoughts and I hope you like this chapter. Oh, and just for the record, I don't care what my spell check says; staticky _is _a word. It's in the gosh darn dictionary, for crying out loud.

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Chapter Eight: The Road to Nowhere

* * *

Brian settled back into his seat and looked down at the book in his lap. He was still working on David Copperfield, but he'd packed nine other titles to keep him occupied while he was traveling and during his downtime in Shermer when he didn't have anything else to do. At the bottom of his backpack, he'd stored the required reading for his British Literature class, including _Silas Marner_, _The Moonstone_, _The Picture of Dorian Gray_, and _Jude the Obscure_. The required reading for his Twentieth Century American Literature class he'd nestled at the bottom of his duffel bag, which he'd stored in the overhead bin above his seat. That list included _Sister Carrie_, _Babbitt_, _The Sun Also Rises_, _Go Tell It On The Mountain_, and _East of Eden_. He was hoping that he would be able to finish at least half of them by the time he boarded the train to go back to Boston, though he didn't know exactly how much free time he would have between helping Claire and visiting his parents.

Brian glanced at his watch. 10:34 P.M., which really meant 9:34 P.M. since he would be passing into a different time zone before reaching Chicago. About five hours previous, he'd changed trains in Albany, New York, where he'd stopped for a sandwich and a Coke. His train wouldn't arrive in Chicago for another eleven hours, which meant that he had plenty of time to finish _David Copperfield _and hopefully start in on _Silas Marner_…if he could focus.

Brian thought back to what Nathaniel had mentioned that morning about sleeping on the train to make up for the sleep he'd lost the night before. He wished it was possible, but he knew he wouldn't be able to do it. He'd managed about thirty minutes of sleep at Rebecca's apartment before he left, but that was probably the best he was going to do for the next couple of days, especially since all he could do was worry about Shermer, Illinois, his reunion with the Breakfast Club, and seeing his parents again.

It was hard to decide which part was going to be the most difficult. He was looking forward to seeing the Breakfast Club, but he wasn't completely sure that they (with the obvious exception of Claire) were excited about seeing him. His parents, on the other hand, were looking forward to his arrival back home, but Brian wasn't positive that he wanted to see them. He knew that it was probably wrong to feel that way, especially since they were paying for most of his very expensive education, but he couldn't help the feeling of dread that washed over him every time he thought about seeing them again. Maybe it was because about 85 percent of the conversation revolved around what courses he was taking, what books he was reading, or what grad schools he was applying to. When he'd graduated from high school, he thought he was on his own and free to do whatever he wanted. He didn't realize that feeling of panic would follow him all the way to Cambridge and back.

Brian sighed and looked back down at the book in his hands. At this rate, he'd hardly be able to finish one book, much less ten.

* * *

The train from New York to Philadelphia wasn't very full, probably because it arrived in Philadelphia at 4:10 A.M., and who wanted to arrive somewhere that early in the morning? Allison didn't really care because she didn't need to have someone pick her up in Philadelphia since she was catching a connecting train to Chicago less than an hour later.

At about midnight, Allison pulled out the money she'd collected that morning on Fifth Avenue. Five wallets totaling $215.68. She didn't need that much, but the last wallet she took had almost $80.00 inside, which put her way over her target goal of $150.00. She'd left $70.00 on the kitchen counter for Cecilia to pay the rent, then shelled out $62.00 for the train ticket. That left her with $83.68 to spend on food and other necessities, whatever they might be.

Allison stuffed $30.00 into her shoe, $20.00 into her bra, $15.00 into her underwear next to her hip, and $15.00 into the pocket of her jeans. The remaining $3.68 she kept in her hand as she walked through the compartments towards the snack bar.

She purchased a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, a candy bar, and a Coke and took them back to her seat. She put her change into the pocket of her denim jacket and sat down next to her duffel bag, then started unwrapping the sandwich from its plastic wrapper. As she ate, she looked out the window at the scenery rushing past her. They were out in the middle of nowhere at that point, with only a few bright city lights to illuminate the darkness. Allison, who was used to seeing nothing but buildings and people and billboards every time she looked out the window, thought the stillness was rather nice.

After a while, her thoughts wandered back to her parents. She hadn't told them she was coming and she didn't think she would when she got there either. There wasn't any need to tell them anyway since she didn't plan on visiting them at any point during the week. Her mother called every other Friday like clockwork, and Allison wasn't expecting another call for a week and a half, so more than likely her parents would never even know she was home.

She hadn't been back to Shermer in more than three years. The last time she went back was for Christmas during the winter of 1984. She'd arrived a week before Christmas and stayed through the 27th. Those eight days were some of the most uncomfortable of her entire life, even more uncomfortable than the days she'd spent living in that house as a child. Her family situation was very broken, and she'd known that going in, but she hadn't realized exactly how unfixable it was until she saw the distant look in her father's eyes when she arrived on the doorstep, or the false cheeriness in her mother's voice. When she got back to New York, she found that her apartment had been broken into, which she took it as a sign that she never should have left in the first place. After that, she decided not to return, even if her parents asked her to.

She needn't have worried about that. For every major holiday, she invented a different excuse for not coming home. Going on a trip with friends for Christmas, having a party in New York for her birthday, staying with a lonely friend for Thanksgiving. Her parents accepted her excuses without much protest, leaving her free to enjoy the holidays in her apartment or in bars or clubs, whichever she was in the mood for at the time. The loneliness she felt sitting in her apartment watching the Macy's Thanksgiving parade in her pajamas, while undeniable, was still less intense than the loneliness she felt sitting at her parents' table, where the only words she uttered were, "Can you please pass the salt?" Her mother still sent presents every year, along with a card with the exact same message written on every one of them. _Love, Mom and Dad._

When she finished her sandwich, Allison stared out of the window for a long time, wondering exactly how many more miles she had to travel before she would arrive back in Shermer. She tried counting them, estimating the speed of the train and how much time was passing. After about ten minutes and thirteen miles, she gave up on counting and pulled out her portable CD player, a Christmas gift from her parents that had arrived in the mail on Christmas Eve the year before. She put in The Pixies and listened to music as she watched the trees fly by.

* * *

"_And this one goes out to all you lovers out there. It's Whitney Houston with 'The Greatest Love of All'._

Andy sighed and hit the next button on his radio console, searching for a decent station. He was less than two hours out of Columbus and already his favorite stations were becoming more and more staticky as the minutes passed. He was able to pick up a couple of rock stations, but the rest of it was soft pop, jazz and classical. After running through them once more, he left it on a rock station that was taking a commercial break and settled back into his seat.

Andy looked back at the road, which was all but empty, save for a couple of eighteen wheelers. Everyone else, he presumed, was at home in their beds, snuggled under the covers to keep warm. He would have given anything to warm right then, anything at all. The heater in his truck wasn't working, and he didn't know why. He had on a padded jacket, a ski cap, and a pair of mittens, but his nose was already running, his lips were chapped, and his cheeks were red with cold. He had a thermos of coffee next to him in the cup holder, but it wasn't very hot or fresh anymore.

After a couple of minutes, the deejay came back on the air and started playing Bruce Springsteen's _Thunder Road_. Andy left it on and looked down at the speedometer, which told him that he was traveling five miles under the speed limit. He didn't speed up. Despite the cold, he didn't see the point in getting back to Shermer any sooner than he had to.

For the first time since he'd gotten the initial call from Brian, Andy's thoughts turned to Allison. He hadn't asked Brian if she was coming and Brian hadn't volunteered the information. He wondered what she looked like, if she'd changed, if she was still living in New York, if she was dating anyone. He knew that he probably shouldn't care about stuff like that anymore, and it surprised him a little bit that he did since he hadn't thought about Allison all that often in the past few years. After they broke up in the winter of 1984, they lost touch completely, and he hadn't spoken with her since. He missed her a little bit sometimes, but mostly he just wondered what she was doing, where she was, who she had become. He couldn't imagine her looking or acting any different than she did the last time he saw her, but he knew that she probably did since everyone changed as the years went on. He had.

Andy exhaled, his warm breath visible in the freezing air. Part of him wanted to see Allison again, if only to satisfy his curiosity and see what she was like. The other part of him hoped that she wouldn't show. It wasn't discomfort he was worried about, though he knew there would be plenty of that. He wasn't even worried about attraction because he knew that he was too old and too different to feel that way about her again. So, why was he so worried about -- no, _afraid of _-- seeing her? With the others he knew he could grit his teeth and bear it…but Allison? She knew him too well. She saw right through him, and if there was anything he didn't want right then, it was for someone to look past the angry eyes and the pasted smiles and see the wreck he'd made of himself deep down inside.

Andy turned off the radio and leaned back in his seat, staring through his cracked windshield out at the dark, empty road. Up ahead on the right were two signs, one advertising a 24-hour truck stop with hot coffee and hot food. The other was a mile marker, which told him that he had 236 miles between him and Chicago. He watched them pass by, then turned on his blinker and took the next exit leading to the truck stop.

* * *

A/N: Just for the record, I know that Brian carrying ten books with him for a five day trip may seem a bit extreme, but I do that every time I go anywhere, especially if I'll have lots of time on my hands. I figured that if I was nerdy enough to do it, then Brian probably would be, too, especially if he was worried about his grades (which, I'll admit, I'm not).

Thanks for reading. Please review!


	9. Homecoming

A/N: Thanks to everyone who has reviewed. You've been very encouraging, and I'm glad you're enjoying the story. This chapter is dedicated you all of you. Enjoy!

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Chapter Nine: Homecoming

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Andy pulled into the parking lot at Union Station at about 8:30 on Monday morning, just ten minutes before Brian's train was scheduled to pull into the station, and cut the engine. He didn't move for a couple of minutes, just sat there staring out of the windshield at the building in front of him. He may have been tired and cold and bored during the trip from Columbus, but there was something very peaceful about the solitude and the darkness. The feeling disappeared rather quickly when he arrived in Chicago and the reason for his journey grew closer with every passing mile. He was home.

He sat there in the parking lot for ten minutes, not moving, just staring out at the station and fogging up the window every time he breathed. He wasn't even inside yet, but already Andy could feel himself getting swept into the crowd and sucked back into the real world, which wanted things from him that he wasn't ready to give. He thought about Brian and what the hell they were going to say to each other after three years of not speaking. Was he supposed to hug him, to shake hands, to greet him enthusiastically? Was he supposed to ask how college was treating him, what he was planning on doing with his life when he graduated? And when Brian turned the tables on him and started asking how his life was going, what was he supposed to say then?

Andy looked down at the clock on his dashboard. 8:38 A.M. He took a deep breath, unbuckled his seatbelt, and climbed out of the truck.

* * *

Brian's train arrived at 8:55 A.M., fifteen minutes late. He waited for his fellow passengers to clear the aisle before gathering his bags and exiting the train. He walked from the platform into the main building, not entirely sure where he was supposed to go.

After wandering around for a few minutes, he finally spotted Andy near the front entrance, leaning against the brick wall with his arms crossed over his chest, glancing around him at the people walking by. He looked about the same as the last time Brian saw him, maybe an inch or two taller, a little thinner.

"Andy!"

Andy looked up and nodded, his expression unreadable. "Hey."

"Uh, hey." Brian stopped when he was a couple of feet away and let his duffel bag drop to the floor next to his feet. "It's, uh…thanks for picking me up."

Andy nodded and opened his mouth to say something else, then stopped himself. He ran a hand through his short blonde hair and looked down at Brian's bag. "Do you need help carrying that?"

Brian shook his head quickly and went to pick it up again. "No, I can get it."

Andy nodded and looked at the front door, then back at Brian. "So, uh, should we go ahead and go or…"

"Maybe we should call first."

"Oh." Andy glanced around, then nodded at a row of phone booths set up near the restrooms on the far side of the room. "There."

Brian carried his bag across the room and set it down under one of the payphones, then pulled a piece of paper from the pocket in his denim jacket.

"Standish residence."

"Um, hi. This is Brian Johnson, a friend of Claire's. Could I speak with her please?"

"I'm sorry, but she's not home at the moment. Can I take a message?"

"Um, just a second." Brian glanced over at Andy, who was standing a few feet away, watching people rush past him. "She's not home."

Andy looked over. "What?"

"She isn't home."

Andy stared at him blankly for a moment. "When will she be back?"

"Uh, ma'am? Do you know when she'll be back?"

"Well, I don't know for sure, but probably pretty soon. Thirty minutes maybe."

Brian turned back to Andy. "Thirty minutes maybe."

Andy sighed and looked down at his watch. "Okay, we'll just…we'll just go get something to eat and call back later."

Brian nodded and turned back to the phone. "Thank you, ma'am."

"You're welcome. Goodbye."

"Bye." Brian hung up the phone and turned back to Andy. "So, um, where are we…"

Andy shrugged. "Let's just get out of here and we'll decide in the car."

Brian nodded and picked up his duffel bag again, following Andy out to his truck. He tossed his duffel bag into the back and climbed into the passenger side. Andy pulled out of the space and started driving through the parking lot, eventually ending up back on the main street leading out to the suburbs, towards Shermer.

"What do you like?"

Brian shrugged. "Doesn't matter."

Andy didn't say anything. A few minutes later, he pulled into the parking lot of a Jack in the Box and turned off the ignition.

When they got inside, each of them ordered a hamburger combo meal and seat in a booth next to the window facing out to the parking lot. Brian kept sneaking nervous glances at Andy, wondering what he should say to jump start the conversation.

"So, uh, how's school?"

Andy looked up, a soggy fry in one hand. "It's fine." He paused. "What about you?"

"It's fine. Good, actually. It's…it's good."

Andy nodded. "That's good."

"Yeah." Brian took another bite of his hamburger and swallowed. "So, uh, are you graduating this semester?"

"Yeah, in June."

"Are you going to grad school?"

Andy shook his head.

"So, you're gonna get a job?"

Andy shrugged. "Yeah, I guess."

"What do you want to do?"

Andy wiped his mouth with a napkin. "I don't know. Work for some company, I guess."

That wasn't very informative. "What kind of company?"

Again, Andy shrugged. "Whoever will hire me."

"What are you studying?"

"Business."

"You know, you can do a lot with a major like that. Anything almost. You could work for a non-profit organization or a bank or an insurance company. There are so many places you could go."

Andy nodded. "Yeah, probably. What are…I mean, are you still doing English?"

Brian popped another fry into his mouth. "Yeah. I think I want to teach. You know, high school or something."

Andy nodded. "You graduate next year?"

"No, December. I took some extra classes last summer, so I'm ahead."

"Oh. That's good."

Brian nodded and looked over at Andy's tray, which was still almost full. "Are you not hungry?"

Andy shook his head. "Not really. Do you want my fries?"

"Yeah, okay." Brian took a handful of the greasy sticks from Andy's tray and put them onto his. He ate for a few minutes while Andy stared out the window. When he finished, he looked across the table nervously.

"So, how about this weather, huh?"

* * *

Claire and her father arrived back at the house from the funeral home at about 9:30 that morning. There hadn't been much left to do. Her father cut a couple of checks and signed off on some papers that Claire hadn't been authorized to sign the day before. They also finished planning the service itself, which was much easier with her father there to make decisions that Claire couldn't make. The two of them were in and out within thirty minutes…which made Claire wonder how long it would have taken the day before if she'd had someone there with her.

"Irene is coming in today. Late tonight probably."

Claire nodded and settled back into her seat, staring out at the road ahead. "When does her flight land?"

"7:00. Daniel said that he would pick her up."

This wasn't surprising. Claire knew her father didn't get along very well with her mother's sister Irene, who was very protective of her younger sister Catherine. Irene and Claire's father managed to get into it every time she came to visit, caused in part by her father's pride and in part by her aunt's raging temper. Claire had always been fond of Irene, who doted on her niece as the daughter she never had.

Claire's father pulled into the driveway and parked the car along the circular driveway, right next to the front porch. When she got inside the house, she went straight up to her room and collapsed onto her bed. She hadn't ever considered how hard it was to plan a funeral. When she was younger, she'd loved planning parties and celebrations. She was so good at it that she'd even considered becoming a wedding planner or event coordinator when she graduated. Somehow, it was a lot less fun when it was her mother's death that she was "celebrating".

About twenty minutes later, there was a sharp knock on the door. Claire, who had accidentally fallen asleep, sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes. "Yes?" she asked irritably.

"Miss Standish, there are some guests here to see you."

"Guests?" Suddenly, Claire realized who she was talking about and yanked open the door, sweeping past Sandra, the maid, and running down the stairs as quickly as she could in her heels.

"They called a few minutes ago. and I knew you were home, but I didn't know where you were, so I couldn't-"

"It's fine."

Claire ran to the front hallway, where Brian and Andy were standing, sneaking glances at the furniture and wall coverings. When he saw her, Brian smiled. "Hi, Claire."

Claire grinned and hugged him. "Thanks for coming," she whispered into his ear.

"No problem." He released her. "I like your hair."

Claire laughed and tucked a strand behind her ear. She'd let it grow out a bit over the years so that it hung just past her shoulders. "Thanks. You look…" She stood back to get a better look. "Bigger," she concluded.

Brian blushed and nodded. "Freshman fifteen."

It looked like a lot more than fifteen to her. She turned to Andy, who was standing off to the side looking slightly uncomfortable. "Hi, Andy."

"Hi." He gave her a stiff, but friendly, hug. "You look nice."

"Thanks." She glanced back and forth between them. "So, are you staying here or…"

Both of them nodded. "If that's okay," said Brian.

"Of course."

There was a moment of awkward silence as they just stood there staring at each other, smiling nervously. "So, um, did you ever talk to Allison?"

Brian shook his head. "I left messages, but I'm not sure if she'll get it or not."

Claire nodded and glanced back over at Andy, who was frowning thoughtfully as he stared at his shoes. She looked back at Brian. "What about…"

He shook his head again. "Same thing. I didn't have his new number, so…"

Claire nodded again, trying not to look disappointed. After a moment, she forced a smile onto her face. "So, are you hungry?"

* * *

Bender caught a break in his schedule at around 11:00 on Monday morning. After finishing up a job fixing a broken water heater, he went back to the office at the electrical repair company and used the phone in his boss's office. After a couple of rings, a very sleepy C.J. answered.

"Hello?"

"C.J., it's Bender."

Pause. "Oh, hey, man."

"You called last night and left a message on my machine."

"Uh, yeah."

"I need to know if he said anything else."

"Who?"

Bender rolled his eyes. "The guy you talked to. Brian."

"Oh." Bender heard some more rustling on C.J.'s end, then the sound of a bed creaking. "Uh, he called at, like, 9:00, maybe 10:00. Sounded kind of tense or worried or something."

Typical Brian. "What did he say about Claire?"

"Just that her mom died and that the funeral was on…"

"Wednesday."

"Right."

"And?"

C.J. paused. "And she wanted you to come."

Bender stared at the wall a few feet away. "Just me or…"

"I don't know. He said _everyone_. I didn't ask him what that meant because I figured you would know."

Of course he knew. "Okay." He paused. "You sure there wasn't anything else?"

"Yeah, pretty sure. You need a place to stay, man? 'Cause you can stay on the couch like last time if you need to."

"No." Bender let out an angry sigh and looked away from the wall. "No, I don't."

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A/N: Thanks for reading! I'd love to hear from you if you've got the time. 


	10. Out of Place

A/N: Thanks for the reviews! I hope you enjoy this chapter.

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Chapter Ten: Out of Place

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The first thing Brian did after being shown his room was call his parents. They knew what time his train pulled in, and if he waited too long, his mother would start worrying about what had happened to him.

"Weingarden Realty."

"Mom, it's me."

"Oh. How was your trip?"

Brian glanced over at the stack of books he'd set on top of his dresser. He'd managed to get through _David Copperfield_, but barely. His mind had been so jumbled with worry and anticipation that he had hardly been able to focus. He hadn't even opened Silas Marner, the next book on his list. "It was fine."

"Where are you? Are you at Claire's house?"

"Yeah, I just got here."

"Did you eat breakfast on the train?"

"No, when I got in." Brian heard some rustling on her end, and it sounded like she was she was flipping through a stack of papers. His mother was the payroll manager for a small realty company that she'd been working at since before he was born, and she kept very busy at the office. "Are you busy? Because I can call back la-"

"It's fine. Will you be there for dinner tonight?"

Brian sighed. "I don't think so. Claire said we can eat here. They've got lots of food, so…"

"Are you staying there?"

"Yeah, I was planning on it."

"Hmmm."

Brian couldn't tell if she was disappointed, angry, or indifferent. "It's just that there are a couple of people that haven't shown up yet and I don't know if they're even coming or not and, you know, Claire offered, and I didn't want to be rude, so…" He trailed off, knowing that he wasn't making any sense at all.

"Well, your father thought you were coming, and he set up the grill so he could make steak for dinner."

"Oh."

"And he cleared out the guest room so that you could stay there."

"I'm sorry."

"I'll just tell him not to bother."

Brian didn't know what he was supposed to say. "Okay. I'm sorry. I just didn't-"

"The funeral is on Wednesday?"

Brian paused, jarred by the sudden change of subject. "Uh, yeah. Yeah, it is."

"And the viewing is tomorrow night?"

"Yeah. From five to seven."

"So, we shouldn't expect to see you then either?"

Brian swallowed nervously. "Well, no, but I can come over afterward…if that's okay."

"Okay, but call before you come."

Brian nodded. "Okay."

"You won't forget, will you?"

"No, I promise I'll call."

"No, I meant-" His mother stopped, and he could hear her rustling around at her desk again. "We'll see you tomorrow."

"Okay. I love you."

"You, too. Bye."

"Bye." Brian heard a loud click, which told him that his mother had hung up. He let out a deep breath and replaced the phone on its cradle.

* * *

The train from Philadelphia to Chicago arrived at approximately 2:45 on Monday afternoon. Allison, who was carrying nothing but a lightweight duffel bag, was the first person off of the train. When she got into the station, the first thing she did was find a phone booth with a directory inside. It took her a moment, but she finally found what she was looking for: Standish, Calvin. 14158 King's Cross Drive. Shermer, Illinois, 60062.

When she'd finished memorizing the address, Allison stepped from the booth and started walking towards the main entrance. She was hungry, but decided not to stop for lunch. She'd traveled often enough to know that train stations and airports were among the most expensive places to eat, and she wasn't ready to part with any more of her precious money than she had to.

There was a bus stop right next to the train station that Allison knew about from the last time she'd come back to Shermer. She plopped down on the booth and pulled out one of the packs of Jelly Bellies that she'd taken from work and started munching on those as she waited to be picked up. After about ten minutes, a familiar black and white bus pulled up in front of her, and the door slid open, revealing a middle aged man in a bus driver's uniform.

"You comin'?"

Allison nodded and boarded the bus, slipping a couple of quarters into the box. "Do you know where King's Cross is?"

The man squinted thoughtfully. "That's over by the golf course, isn't it?"

That sounded right. Allison nodded. "Do you make any stops over there?"

The man hesitated, glancing at Allison's rumpled clothing and messy hair. "I do," he said slowly, his voice giving nothing away.

Allison nodded. "Good. That's where I'm going." She didn't wait for him to respond, just took a seat in the back and watched the city fly by outside of her window.

* * *

When he'd finished unpacking, Brian went downstairs to see what was going on. Claire was busy fielding phone calls from people that wanted to talk to her about the funeral, and Andy was upstairs in his room somewhere. Deciding that it would be rude to wander around the house by himself, Brian chose to return to his room and get started on _Silas Marner_.

He read for about an hour before going back downstairs again. This time, he found the maid in the kitchen reorganizing the refrigerator, which was full of casserole dishes and baking pans. The woman told him that Claire was still on the phone and probably would be for a long time, if Monday was anything like the last two days. Brian thanked her and went back upstairs.

An hour later, he went back down again. This time the kitchen was empty and Claire was nowhere to be seen. Again, he climbed the stairs and picked up _Silas Marner_. The cycle continued for the next few hours, with Brian going downstairs once every hour to check for Claire, who was usually on the phone, then retreating to his room to read. He felt very uncomfortable with the situation, not because he was bored, but because he felt so useless and out of place. He felt like if he was going to stay at her house that he should at least be running errands or making phone calls, but it didn't look like she needed him to do any of that. So he read.

At about 3:00 in the afternoon, Brian made another trip downstairs. This time, he found Claire sitting on a stool at the kitchen counter, sipping from a glass of water and staring at the wall in front of her. She must have been lost in her thoughts because didn't even hear him come in.

"Claire?"

Claire jumped slightly at the interruption, but smiled when she saw who it was. "Hi." Suddenly, her eyes widened. "Oh, God, I'm so sorry!"

"For what?" Brian took a seat on the stool next to her.

Claire shook her head. "I forgot you were here. I mean, I didn't forget, but I just got so busy that I didn't-"

"No, it's okay. I was fine."

Claire cringed. "Really?"

"Yeah, I was just reading. Getting some work done."

Claire nodded. "I'm sorry. I just…I didn't realize I would be so busy, you know?" She looked back at his face and offered a sad smile. "But thanks for being here."

Brian nodded. "Yeah, of course."

"Do you want something to eat? God, you haven't even eaten lunch!" Claire jumped off of the stool and walked over to the fridge. "Do you want something? We've got pot roast and chicken salad and vegetable soup and spinach casserole and…" Claire opened one of the containers and made a face. "I don't know what that is."

Brian laughed. "Maybe a chicken salad sandwich."

"Okay." Claire pulled out the container and shut the refrigerator door, then started making him a sandwich. "So, how is school going?"

Brian nodded. "Good. What about you?"

Claire nodded. "Good. I'm graduating this semester."

"I'll bet you're excited."

Claire shrugged. "I guess, but…" She looked up at him and smiled sheepishly. "Sometimes I wish I didn't have to, you know?"

"Why?"

Claire picked up a spoon and started scooping chicken salad onto one of the pieces of bread. "I don't know. I just…I like the way things are going, I guess. My friends, my sorority sisters. I don't want to leave them, you know? I don't want things to change."

As soon as she said this, she looked up at Brian, a little bit panicked. He knew what she was thinking because it was the same thing he'd been thinking. He opened his mouth to speak, but she didn't let him.

"I just mean that it's hard for me to leave people and…" She stopped and, realizing she'd backed herself into a corner, looked down at the spoon in her hand.

Brian didn't say anything right away. He felt a little bit hurt…well, _a lot_ hurt, actually. After she left for college, Claire hadn't kept in touch with him at all. She was only a couple of hours away in at the University of Illinois in Champaign-Urbana, but she hardly ever came home, and when she did, she never called to see if he wanted to get together. He was angry with her at first because he thought she was being very selfish, but after a while, he came to the conclusion that she either hadn't cared that much to begin with, or that she just found it easy to move on with her life. Either way, he was starting to wonder why he hadn't considered these things on Saturday night when she'd called him up out of the blue, asking him to come home.

After a few seconds, Claire looked up. "I-"

Suddenly, the phone rang. Claire sighed with frustration and shot Brian an apologetic look. "I'll be right back."

Brian nodded, and she disappeared from the room. He watched her leave, then turned back to the counter, where his half-completed sandwich was beckoning to him from a couple of feet away. His stomach growled with hunger, and he reached across the counter to pick up the plate. He pieced the sandwich together as best he could and started eating, trying as hard as he could not to wonder if the rest of his days in Shermer were going to go as badly as this one.

* * *

Andy spent the rest of the morning and a good chunk of the afternoon in bed asleep. He'd only gotten about four hours of sleep the night before since he left for Chicago at 2 A.M., and he didn't function well with so little sleep. Besides, what else was he going to do? He felt awkward enough sleeping in someone else's bed and using someone else's bathroom, but when that someone was a friend he hadn't seen in three years, he felt even more uncomfortable. Forced conversation would probably drive him over the edge.

He woke up at about 3:00 that afternoon, groggy and disoriented. He could have easily gone back to sleep, but he forced himself to stay awake, staring up at the ceiling with heavy, fluttering eyelids. After a few minutes, he sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes, trying to wake up.

When his eyes were finally able to focus on his surroundings, Andy caught sight of the phone on the nightstand next to the bed. There were people he needed to call. David, his co-worker at the Giant Eagle, had offered to cover Andy's shifts or find someone else who could, but it would probably be a good idea to make sure that everything had been taken care of. Also, it might be polite to check in on Paul, who was probably wondering if he got to Shermer safely. Lastly, his parents didn't even know he was in town. If he waited too long before calling them, and they found out from someone else that he'd driven in without telling them, they would be hurt and angry, and he really didn't want that.

But he didn't feel like talking to anyone just then. David and Paul, while easy to talk to, would both want stories, and his parents would want much more. He'd call later when he wasn't so tired.

Andy bummed around his room for a while, not really doing anything, just hanging out and going through his things to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything. He didn't want to unpack since it seemed like a lot of unnecessary trouble, and he didn't want to feel like he was living there or anything.

At about 3:30, he went next door to Brian's room, which he found empty except for a pile of books on the dresser and an empty duffel bag at the foot of the bed. Andy made his way downstairs and wound up in the kitchen, which was also empty. Had they left without telling him?

Suddenly, the doorbell rang. Andy looked around uncertainly, but there didn't seem to be anyone downstairs. Hesitantly, he walked into the foyer and looked up the staircase, hoping one of the maids would come running down to get it. No one did, and the doorbell rang again. Andy sighed and walked over to the door toopen it.

Immediately, he regretted it.

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A/N: Please review! 


	11. This Was a Mistake

A/N: Again, I know the sections have been a bit uneven, and that some characters have gotten more face time than others. I have given Brian more sections than some of the others, but there's a reason for that, and it should become more clear as the story progresses. Also, I figure that Brian doesn't get the spotlight all that often in BC fan fiction, so maybe he's due for some action? ;) Anyway, as I mentioned before, the sections will even out eventually.

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**Chapter Eleven: This Was a Mistake**

* * *

It was either the most beautiful or most horrifying thing she'd ever seen. Maybe it was both.

"Hi."

Allison swallowed deeply and pushed out a response. "Hi."

Andy nodded stiffly and stepped backwards, opening the door a bit wider. "Uh, come in, I guess. I don't know where Claire is, but…"

Allison nodded and pushed past him, shivering slightly as her arm brushed against his. He closed the door behind him and turned to face her. They stood there for a moment, staring at one another, then at the floor, then at one another again. Finally, Andy spoke. "So, uh, did you come from New York?"

Allison nodded. "Did you come from Columbus?"

Andy nodded. "Yeah."

Allison watched him for a moment, looking for signs of change. There were plenty to choose from. He was thinner than she remembered, and his hair was a bit longer. He looked older, too, but she supposed that was normal. The part that wasn't normal was how tired he looked, and not just physically.

"Allison."

Allison looked away from Andy and over at the staircase, where Brian was standing, smiling hesitantly. He was taller and heavier than he had been in high school, but she recognized him right away.

"Hi."

"Hi." Brian stepped forward and gave her a hug, which she couldn't return properly since her duffel bag kept getting in the way. "Did you just get here?" Brian glanced over at Andy, who had come up beside them and was standing by the wall a few feet away. He shrugged dismissively, indicating that he didn't have anything to do with her arrival.

Allison stepped back. "I took the train."

"I wasn't sure if you got my message or not, so I didn't know if you'd come." Brian watched her expectantly, but she didn't know what he wanted her to say, so she didn't say anything.

Suddenly, Allison heard the click-clack of heels against the marble floor, and Claire appeared in the doorway. "Allison!" she exclaimed. She walked over to give her a hug, which Allison still found awkward with her bag sliding down her arm. "When did you get here?"

"Just now."

Claire stepped back and gave her a sad smile. "Thanks for coming."

Allison nodded, but didn't say anything. She was probably supposed to say something about how sorry she was that her mom had died, but Allison had never been good at things like that. Besides, what did Claire care if Allison was sorry? It wouldn't bring her mom back.

There was a moment of awkward silence in the hallway, with all four of them staring at one another uncomfortably. After a moment, Claire took a deep breath and smiled at Allison nervously. "So, are you staying here? I can have Sandra get a room ready for you."

Allison nodded.

"Okay, I'll be right back. You can just leave your stuff here in the hallway," said Claire. Allison nodded and Claire headed up the staircase, her heels echoing loudly in the silent room.

Brian looked over at Allison. "So, uh, you took the train…"

Allison nodded, forcing herself not to look over at Andy to see if he was watching her.

"From New York?"

She nodded again.

"How was your trip?"

Allison shrugged. "Fine."  
Brian nodded. "That's…that's good."

The three of them stood there awkwardly for a few seconds before Andy cleared his throat. "I need to, uh…I need to finish unpacking," he said. Allison looked over at him, but he just nodded stiffly in their general direction and started up the staircase, his sneakers squeaking softly against the marble steps.

"So, how did you get here from the station?"

Allison glanced back at Brian. "Bus."

Brian nodded. "Oh, I didn't even think about doing that. Andy picked me up." He paused. "Too bad you didn't call first. I'm sure if you would have called that he could've, you know, picked you up, too."

Allison nodded, though she could hardly imagine that being anything but awkward. "Yeah…too bad."

* * *

Claire found a spare bedroom just down the hallway from Andy and Brian's rooms, then went back downstairs to get Allison. Brian helped her with her bag, then disappeared back into his own room after Claire insisted that she didn't need any help with anything. Claire showed Allison where the bathroom was, then went back downstairs for something to eat.

She found a brand new platter of brownies on the counter and helped herself to two of them, knowing that she probably wouldn't get another chance since her brother would make quick work of them when he realized they were there. She washed the brownies down with a glass of milk, then walked into the sitting room to return a couple of phone calls from earlier in the day. On the way to the sitting room, she passed her father's office door, which was cracked open a few inches. She hesitated for a moment, then knocked softly.

"Come in."

Claire pushed open the door slowly, peeking into the room. "Hi, Daddy."

Calvin Standish beamed at his daughter. "Hi, Princess. Come in."

Claire stepped into the room and took a seat in the leather chair in front of his desk. "How are you?"

He smiled warmly. "Fine. How are you holding up?"

"Fine. What are you doing?"

He looked down at the stack of papers on his desk, then back up at her. "Just catching up on some paperwork."

Claire glanced over at his desk, which was covered in stacks of papers. Her father was the Vice President of a medium-sized investment company in Chicago, and he was always busy calling people or going over reports. As much as she wanted him to forget about his job and focus on the situation at hand, Claire knew that it was nearly impossible for him to completely take off from work when he had so many responsibilities. The fact that he'd decided to stay home instead of going into the office was good enough for her…almost.

"Are your friends settling in alright?"

Claire nodded. "Allison just got here a few minutes ago."

Mr. Standish probably didn't know who Allison was, but he nodded anyway. "Good. I'm glad they were able to make it."

Claire nodded. "Me, too."

Mr. Standish paused, then smiled proudly at his daughter. "I know you've had a lot of work to do, Princess, but I really appreciate you being here. You're doing a wonderful job."

Claire sat very still. "It's okay," she said quietly. He continued smiling at her, but Claire wished that he would just stop. "It's okay," she said again, this time more firmly.

Her father nodded. "Well, you just let me know if you need me to do anything, okay?"

Claire swallowed a lump in her throat and nodded. "Sure, Daddy." Without saying anything else, she rose from her chair and walked out of the office, then headed back into the sitting room to finish making her phone calls.

* * *

Andy lay on the bed in his guest room, staring up at the ceiling and cursing himself for coming back to Shermer, Illinois.

There were a million reasons why he regretted his decision to come, and he was reminded of several of them when he'd opened the door to find Allison standing on the front porch with her duffel bag slung over one shoulder. She looked different than she had the last time he'd seen her more than three years before. She was thinner than he remembered, and her hair was short and messy. She was wearing black boots, black jeans, a worn-out black leather jacket, and an unreadable expression. It was that last part that bothered Andy the most, just as it had when they were teenagers. She was so damn good at hiding things, and it always frustrated him that he couldn't tell what she was thinking. The fact that she was just as good, if not better, at hiding her emotions four years down the road frustrated him even more.

Andy sighed and closed his eyes. He'd fully expected her to say no or ignore Brian's message, and the fact that she'd actually agreed to come back surprised him. Why had she come back? It couldn't have been just because of Claire. The girls had been friends, but they'd never been particularly close, and Andy couldn't see Allison jumping on a train and giving up a week of her life just so that she could be there Claire in her time of need. He didn't think that the prospect of seeing Bender or Brian would have done much to convince her, either. Had she come back to see him? He knew how arrogant it sounded, but he couldn't push the idea out of his mind.

When the two of them broke up in the winter of 1984, Andy knew it was for the best. The two of them were so different, and their relationship had started under such random circumstances. With him going to school in Ohio and her living in New York, he knew that they wouldn't last long. She must have known it, too, because she'd hardly reacted when he mentioned taking a break. At the time, he'd wondered if she wasn't trying to shield her pride by acting aloof, but as the days went on and Allison still hadn't called back, Andy started wondering if perhaps she hadn't cared very much after all.

But maybe he'd been wrong; maybe she had cared. Her greeting in Claire's foyer that afternoon had done nothing to suggest that she wanted him back, but there was still the fact that she'd come all that way in the first place. What did she expect from him? What did any of them expect from him? Andy's stomach tightened apprehensively, and he pressed his forearm against his abdomen in an attempt to relieve the pressure. _This was a mistake. This whole thing is one big fucking mistake._

A few hours later, Andy jerked awake, his heart racing and his eyes wide open, but blurry from sleep. Someone knocked on his door, probably for the second or third time, and he sat up in bed. "Yeah?"

"Andy?" Claire called out. "Dinner's ready, if you're hungry."

Andy closed his eyes and sighed. "Okay, thanks." He paused. "I'll be there in a minute."

* * *

Brian took a sip of his water and looked across the table, where Allison was sitting silently as she finished off her chicken casserole. Andy, who was sitting to Brian's left, stared down at his plate as he picked at his food. Claire, who was sitting next to him, kept looking around nervously, probably wondering, like Brian, what she was supposed to say.

Brian cleared his throat. "So, Allison, where do you work in New York?"

Allison looked up at him, but didn't answer right away. "At a candy store," she said finally.

Brian hadn't been expecting that. In all of her letters, she'd never given him any clues about what she was doing or where she was working. "Do you like it?"

Allison shrugged, then looked down at her plate again. Brian felt mildly disappointed, but tried not to show it. "That's good," he said lamely.

They ate for a few minutes in silence before Claire spoke. "Are you graduating this semester, Andy?"

Andy jerked his head up quickly, reminding Brian of a sleeping student getting woken up by a teacher in the middle of class. "Um, yeah. In May."

Claire nodded. "Me, too. What are you studying?"

"Business."

Claire smiled. "Me, too."

Andy nodded, but didn't ask her any questions about it. Claire opened her mouth to say something else, then stopped and took another sip her glass of water.

Brian put down his fork. "Where's your brother, Claire?"

Claire looked up. "He's picking up my aunt from the airport." She glanced at her watch. "They should be back soon."

"What about your dad?"

Claire paused. "He's doing some work in his office."

Brian nodded, but didn't press her for details. He was trying to think of something else that he could say to keep the conversation rolling when the phone rang. Claire sighed and put her napkin on the table. "I'll be right back," she said, then ran from the room.

Brian stared at Claire's empty seat. After a moment, he looked over at Allison, who was so engrossed in her food that she even seem to have noticed that Claire had left, then to his left, where Andy was using his fork to push a piece of chicken around on his plate. Brian started to make a comment about how good the food was, then gave up and went back to eating his casserole.

* * *

Claire rushed into the sitting room and picked up the phone in the middle of the fifth ring. "Hello?"

"Claire? Is that you, honey?"

Claire took a seat on the sofa. "Yes, this is Claire."

"This is Florence Gerald from down the street. I just heard about your mother, you poor thing."

Claire sighed and propped up her elbow on the sofa's armrest. "Hello, Mrs. Gerald."

"I would have called sooner, but Henry and I were on vacation, and we didn't get back until this afternoon. I went next door to visit Shirley and to get our mail, and she told me all about your mother. You poor thing."

Claire closed her eyes. "Thank you."

"Now, I don't want you to have to worry about anything at all, so I'm going to bring over one of my potato casseroles, okay, honey? You don't need to be worrying about food at a time like this."

Claire rolled her eyes. At this rate, she wouldn't have to worry about food for the next month and a half. "Thank you, Mrs. Gerald. That's very thoughtful of you."

"No problem, honey. I'll be over in a little while."

"That sounds wonderful. Thank you."

"Good bye."

"Good bye." Claire hung up the phone, then let out a deep breath and collapsed against the back of the sofa. She stared at the door for a moment, willing herself to go back outside to her guests, then gave up and let herself sink further into the sofa cushion. _I just want to sit here and not move. Five minutes. Just give me five minutes._

Claire closed her eyes and took another deep breath. It had been a mistake to call Brian on Saturday night; two days later, she could see that very clearly. Allison was on another planet, Andy was pissed off at everyone, and Brian…well, Brian was the only person that didn't seem to mind being there, but Claire had screwed everything up with him earlier that day in the kitchen when she'd told him that she hated leaving people, even though she'd done a horrible job of keeping in touch with the Breakfast Club. _Way to go, Claire. Way to make him feel completely unwanted._

The doorbell rang, but Claire didn't move from the sofa. _Let Sandra deal with the potato casserole._ Claire rubbed her eyes, not caring that she was probably smudging her eye shadow. She should have just dealt with it on her own; it would have been a lot easier that way, for her and everyone else. Why had she called on them in the first place? It had seemed so right at the time, but apparently the others didn't see it that way. She'd managed to alienate the only person that seemed genuinely happy to see her, and the one person she really wanted to be there had apparently decided not to show.

Suddenly, Claire heard heavy footsteps echoing against the marble floor in the hall. She held her breath, and the footsteps stopped at her door. Slowly, Claire opened her eyes.

"Hey, Princess."

* * *

A/N: Hmmm, who could that be?

Also, I'm sure that you're used to this by now if you've read my other stories, but I'll say it again. I don't like spilling everything in one chapter or section, so please be patient and know that I don't intend to leave anything out. If something is unclear, let me know, but also know that I may be planning to go into greater detail in the next chapter. For example, you will getting deeper insight into Allison's feelings about Andy and the others in chapter 12.

Also, YES, I will be giving John lots of sections in the future, just to make up for torturing you all for so long. Remember: good things come to those who wait…and review.


	12. Never the Same

A/N: Yay, new chapter. Sorry for the delay; I hit a patch of writer's block, but I'm back on track and ready to stir things up! Also, the BC fandom has a forum! It's just like a message board where you can talk to other readers and writers or debate which couple you like best, where they'd be in ten years, etc. You can access it by going to the BC main page, then clicking on the forum button in the top right hand corner of the screen.

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* * *

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Chapter Twelve: Never the Same

* * *

Claire blinked once, then sat up straight. "Hey."

John nodded in greeting, his eyes never leaving her face. Claire sat there for a moment, too surprised to say or do anything except stare at him. It had been three and a half years since she'd seen him, and he'd changed a lot. His hair was short and messy, and he looked as though he hadn't shaved in a couple of days. He was wearing a pair of dark, faded jeans and a black leather jacket with a couple of t-shirts layered beneath it. His expression was unreadable: distant, but not cold, just…cautious. She couldn't say that she blamed him. "I didn't know you were coming," she said finally.

John didn't respond, just kept watching her. Claire cleared her throat and stood from the sofa, smoothing out her skirt. "Did you just get here?"

"Just now."

Claire glanced behind him. "Did Sandra let you in?"

He nodded. "She said you were expecting me."

"Oh." Claire felt her face flush with embarrassment. She'd mentioned to Sandra that she was expecting another guest, hoping that he would show up, but knowing that he wouldn't. "Well…I'm glad you're here."

John's expression flickered, but Claire couldn't tell what he was thinking. She wondered if _he_ could tell what _she_ was thinking. Of course he could. He always could.

"Are you staying here?"

John shook his head. "With a friend."

Claire felt disappointed, but she tried not to show it. "Well, if you change your mind…" When he didn't respond, she changed the subject. "Have you seen the others?"

He shook his head.

"We were eating dinner, but the phone rang and I had to answer it." She took a couple of steps towards him. "They're in the dining room."

John moved out of the doorway, and she edged past him. Her bare arm brushed against his jacket, and she felt her stomach twist itself into knots.

God, he still smelled like cigarette smoke.

John followed Claire into the dining room, where the others were eating in silence. At the sound of Claire's heels snapping against the stone floor, Brian glanced up from his food, his eyes widening in surprise when he caught sight of their new guest. "Bender!"

Andy and Allison glanced up simultaneously, but neither of them looked very excited. Andy looked stunned, and Allison mildly curious, but neither of them said anything.

"How are you?" Brian rose from his seat and gave Bender a hug. Bender looked a bit surprised, but he accepted the gesture and patted Brian on the back.

"I guess you, uh, I guess you got my message, huh?" Brian asked.

Bender didn't answer. He looked back at the table, where Andy and Allison were sitting silently, watching the reunion. "What, I don't get a hug from you, too, Sporto?"

Andy rolled his eyes, and Bender looked over at Allison. He greeted her with a nod, and she offered a small smile, the first Claire had seen from her since she'd arrived.

"Are you staying for dinner?" Claire asked him.

Bender looked over at her. "No," he said flatly.

Claire paused. "Well, we've got plenty if…"

Bender nodded politely, but didn't say anything else. Claire looked back at the table, where the others were watching them curiously. Claire felt her face flame, and she looked back at Bender, who didn't seem fazed in the slightest. He looked down at his watch. "I'd better go."

Claire nodded. "Okay."

"I'll come back sometime tomorrow."

She nodded again. "Thank you."

He nodded and turned back to the others, giving them a casual wave goodbye. Brian returned the wave, Andy nodded stiffly, and Allison just watched him walk through the doorway leading out to the foyer.

Claire followed him out into the hallway. "I'm glad that you-"

Suddenly, the door opened, and Daniel walked in carrying a large red suitcase. "Hey, did you save me some of that chicken casserole?"

Before Claire could answer, her Aunt Irene walked through the door clutching a small red travel bag. "Hello."

Claire smiled and rushed up to her, throwing her arms around the older woman's neck, which smelled strongly of Coco Chanel. "Hi."

Irene pulled away and grasped Claire's shoulders to keep her in place so that she could get a better look at her. "You look beautiful, as always."

Claire smiled. "So, do you."

"Never lie to old people, darling. They always see right through you." Irene let go of Claire's shoulders and turned back to Daniel, who was waiting as patiently as he possibly could considering he probably hadn't eaten in at least two hours. "Just leave the rest out in the car. We'll get them later."

Daniel nodded. "I can take these up to your room if you want."

"Nonsense. I'm sure Calvin would love to take care of it for me." She looked back at Claire. "Where is your father, anyway?"

"In his office."

"Of course he is." Irene sighed. "I'm starving. All I had to eat on the plane was a package of peanuts and two glasses of champagne."

Claire glanced over at Daniel, whose eyes widened. He held up a four fingers and mouthed "four glasses". Claire stifled a giggle and looked back at her aunt. "Well, we've got plenty of food here, so-" Suddenly, Claire stopped and looked around. At some point during the commotion, John had slipped away. Claire went to the door, which was cracked open slightly, and pulled it open just in time to see the red taillights of a small black car disappear as the car pulled out of her driveway and into the street. She bit back her disappointment, then turned back to Irene and Daniel, who were watching her expectantly. Claire took a deep breath and forced a smile. "So…dinner."

* * *

Claire prepared plates for her brother and aunt, then went back into the dining room. The others had already finished eating dinner by the time Daniel and Irene were ready to eat. Andy went back upstairs right away, mumbling something about catching up on his sleep. Allison waited a few minutes, then made a similar excuse. Brian stayed at the table as Claire, Daniel and Irene ate.

"So, where do you go to school, Brian?" asked Irene.

"Harvard."

Irene's eyebrows lifted. "Really?"

Claire glanced over at Brian, who nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

"That's impressive."

Brian blushed. "Thank you, ma'am."

"What are you studying?"

"English."

"You must spend every waking hour with your nose in the books."

Brian paused uncertainly, then nodded stiffly. "Just about," he said quietly.

Claire paused, but kept watching him. Brian hadn't told her much about how he was doing in school, but she knew the pressure his parents had put on him in high school, and she wondered whether they were doing the same when it came to college. Watching him fidget with the table cloth, she felt a rush of protectiveness sweep over her. Irene opened her mouth to ask Brian another question, but Claire interrupted her. "How is that casserole?"

Irene looked over at Claire, momentarily thrown off balance. "Oh, it's good. Very good. Certainly better than peanuts."

Claire smiled at her aunt, then looked over at Brian, who looked distracted, lost in his own thoughts. She started to say something to him, but then her brother asked if there was enough food left for seconds, and Claire forgot what she was going to say.

* * *

The guest bathroom on the second floor was almost as large as Allison's entire apartment.

She shouldn't have been surprised, but she was anyway. It had been a long time since Allison had seen a bathroom that size, and it was a little bit overwhelming considering it had been more than three years since she'd taken a real bath with hot water and real bubbles and clean towels. Her apartment in New York had a bath tub, but she never used it for anything except showering, and even then she kept her showers as short as possible since the edges of the tub were covered in rust and mildew, and there was only one small space in the center of the tub where she could stand and not have to worry about getting some sort of foot disease from all of the bacteria.

But Claire's bathroom was perfect, clean and shiny and fragrant. Allison picked up a bar of soap from a small basket on the sink and took a sniff. Roses. She looked back in the basket and was pleased to find several small bottles of shampoo and conditioner for her to use. Allison had packed only clothes for the trip and had forgotten about toiletries. At the time, she'd assumed she was doing good by remembering to bring her toothbrush.

Allison sampled each of the bath creams and finally settled on one that smelled like violets, then started running the bath water and climbed in. After a while, her thoughts turned towards the Breakfast Club. Everyone was so on edge. Claire looked frazzled and lost, Brian had bags under his eyes, and John…well, John was still John. Allison couldn't quite tell what he was thinking, but he'd always been good at hiding things.

Then there was Andy. He looked so thin and tired and angry. His facial expressions, his body language, the tone of his voice--all of it screamed for her to back off and leave him alone. She could tell that something was wrong with him and wondered what had happened to him over the last three years for him to act that way. More than likely, she would never find out.

When she'd first heard Brian's message on her answering machine, the first person she thought of was Andy. When she'd made the decision to go back to Shermer after all those years, her reason was Andy. On Monday night, lying there in the bathtub watching her fingers wrinkle, all she could think about was Andy. She knew that she should probably feel stupid about thinking about someone so obsessively when she was pretty sure that he wasn't thinking about her, but she refused to be embarrassed. It seemed like such a petty emotion to focus on, considering the circumstances. Anger seemed more appropriate to her, or sadness. Maybe a little bit of both.

* * *

Bender pulled into a parking spot right in front of C.J.'s apartment complex and cut the engine. He sat there in the darkness for a few minutes finishing his cigarette, then opened the door and flicked the stub into the icy grass. He didn't take his duffel bag, just left it in the backseat and walked up to the front door.

It took a few minutes for C.J. to answer, most likely because he had the music turned up so loud that he couldn't hear anything else. When he did finally open the door to see Bender standing there, he looked a bit surprised. "Oh, hey, man. Come in."

Bender nodded and stepped into the apartment. "Thanks."

C.J. shut the door behind him. "I thought you weren't comin'."

"Changed my mind." Bender looked back at his friend. "You mind if I crash here for a couple of days?"

"Yeah, no problem." C.J. grabbed a box of crackers off of the couch and went over to the stereo to turn down the volume. "The couch is yours, but if you find any money stuffed between the cushions, don't get any funny ideas."

Bender smirked and took a seat. "Thanks."

C.J. grinned. "Want a beer?"

"Sure."

C.J. went into the kitchen, but kept talking. "So, what was it you were coming in for? A funeral?"

Bender sighed. "Yeah."

"Anyone I know?"

"A girl I knew in high school. Her mom died."

C.J. walked back into the living room and handed Bender a beer. "Who's the girl?" he asked, taking a seat in a recliner a few feet away.

Bender took a sip of the beer before answering. "Her name's Claire."

"Ah, that's right. Claire." C.J. propped his feet up and leaned back in the seat. "What's the story with her?"

Bender shrugged. "No story."

"Fuck that. There's always a story when a girl's involved. She an ex?"

Bender paused thoughtfully. "Kind of," he said finally.

C.J. nodded slowly. "You hoping to start something up again?"

Bender didn't answer the question, just took another sip of his beer and leaned his head back so that it was resting against the sofa cushion. They sat there for a few minutes, not talking, just listening to the music, before C.J. sat up in his chair and looked over at Bender. "You got a bag?"

Bender nodded. "In the car." He stood up from the couch and put his drink on the coffee table. "I'll be right back."

Outside, Bender pulled out his cigarettes again and lit a fresh one. He stood on the pavement for a while, leaning against his car as he smoked, and looked out over the apartment buildings further down the street. Two blocks from C.J.'s apartment, the apartment buildings gave way to duplexes, and two blocks after that, the duplexes gave way to houses, one of them being the house that his father still occupied. Four blocks. He could get in his car and be there in two minutes, maybe less. Two minutes. Four blocks. Three years.

After a couple of minutes, Bender finished his cigarette, grabbed his duffel bag from the backseat of the car, and went back into the house.

* * *

Claire spent most of the evening helping Irene get settled into one of the guest rooms on the first floor and talking to Florence Gerald, who finally brought over that potato casserole she'd promised. By the time she got to her bedroom, Claire was exhausted. She changed into a pair of cotton pajamas and a matching camisole, then climbed into bed and pulled the comforter over her shoulders.

She'd been lying there for about ten minutes when she realized that she wasn't asleep yet. Sighing, she turned over to face her nightstand, and her eyes fell on the framed picture of the Breakfast Club, which was hardly visible in the semi-darkness. She stared at the photo for a long time, her eyes flicking from one face to another, and wondered what they were thinking about and what was going to happen the next day when they were all together again. Most of all, she wondered about John, if he was safe at his friend's house, if he was awake or asleep, if he was thinking about her. She tried to imagine him at his friend's house, tried to picture him lying in bed and staring up at the ceiling, but something wasn't quite right. Instead of the man with the short, dark hair and the unreadable expression, she saw the teenager with the denim jacket and the cocky grin. She tried, but couldn't get the image straight in her head.

After a while, the day finally caught up with her, and Claire fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

* * *

A/N: Also, I just wanted to mention that I've gotten a lot done for my pre-detention story 'Friday Let Me Down' and I've posted through chapter 15 of that story. This is just a gentle reminder. ;) Thank you. 


	13. Rise and Shine

A/N: This story is back from the dead, yay! Thanks for waiting so patiently for this next chapter. I hope you enjoy it.

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen: Rise and Shine**

* * *

Brian sighed and closed his copy of _Sister Carrie_, which he had balanced on his knees. He had started the book at around 2 A.M., just after he'd finished _Silas Marner_, the second book on his British Literature reading list. _Sister Carrie _was the first book on his American Literature reading list, and at the time he'd thought that he was mixing it up a bit by changing over to the other list. However, he soon found out that both books were pretty much about the same thing: people in love with money. After a couple of hours of reading, he was tempted to skip ahead and see if Carrie's story ended up as happily as Silas's did, but the British seemed to be more interested in happy endings than the American realists did, so he had figured that he already knew the answer to that question. Besides, skipping ahead felt too much like cheating. 

Brian glanced over at the clock on the nightstand. It was 6:03, which meant that it was 7:03 in Boston. Brian took his wallet off of the nightstand and pulled out a phone card. He dialed the number he knew by heart, then leaned back against the headboard as it rang.

She picked up on the third ring. "Hello?"

"Hey, it's me." He paused. "I mean, it's Brian."

Rebecca laughed. "I know your name, silly. What are you doing?"

Brian glanced down at the book sitting next to him on the bed. "Reading."

"Why are you up so early? What time is it over there? Six o'clock?"

Brian cringed. He'd never told his girlfriend about his odd sleeping habits and had made up excuses whenever she asked why he was having trouble sleeping. He'd never told her that it had become a regular thing, mainly because he knew that it would worry her and that she'd want him to see a doctor to get on some kind of medication that would help him get more sleep. The problem was that he needed those extra hours to get stuff done for his classes, and a doctor could ruin all of that. So, he lied.

"Oh, I just woke up early this morning and couldn't go back to sleep," he said. "I guess I'm just worried or whatever…you know, about being here."

He could hear Rebecca rustling around, probably getting ready for work. "How is everything going?" she asked.

Brian sighed. "I don't know. Bad, I guess."

"What happened?"

Brian thought back to the previous evening's dinner, when he and Claire had done all of the talking and Allison and Andy had just sat there, picking at their food, hardly looking up from their plates. Then there was Bender, who hardly said two words before he was out the door again. "Everybody's being really quiet. Andy and Allison…they're just sitting there. And Bender was…well, I don't know what's going on with him. He was only here for a few minutes before he left. I haven't talked to him at all."

Rebecca let that sink in for a moment before she spoke. "So, they all showed up?"

Brian blinked. "Yeah."

"Well, weren't you afraid that they wouldn't?"

Brian paused. "Yeah, I was."

"So, that's good, right?"

Brian let out a deep breath and closed his eyes. "I don't know. Everyone's acting so weird."

"But they _came_."

Brian was quiet for a few minutes. Finally, he cleared his throat. "I wish you were here," he said quietly.

Rebecca let out a little breath, and he could almost see her smiling. "What are you saying, you can't survive without me for three or four days?"

_Yes_. The answer came swiftly, without any pause for thought. He looked down at the quilt and picked up Sister Carrie, running his thumb along the edge of the spine. "No."

"You're not?" she asked, her voice teasing. "Cause that's what it sounds like."

"No," he said again, unable to keep the smile off of his face. He let out a deep breath and let a few seconds pass before changing the subject. "When is your shift?"

"Eight o'clock."

Brian glanced at the clock on the nightstand. "Well, you should go then," he said reluctantly.

"You can call me tonight if you want. Or tomorrow morning. Let me know how things are going."

Brian nodded. "Yeah, okay. I will. Call you, I mean."

"Everything's going to be fine."

Brian sighed. "Yeah, I know."

"Okay, well, I'll talk to you later." She paused. "I love you."

Brian's stomach fluttered painfully at the words. "I love you, too," he said quietly.

* * *

At about eight o'clock on Tuesday morning, Claire woke up to the sound of someone knocking on her bedroom door. She sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes. "Come in." 

The door cracked open, and Sandra stuck her head in. "I'm sorry to bother you, but there's a Mr. Peterson on the phone for you. He said it was important."

Claire sighed. The funeral director. "Tell him I'll be there in a minute."

Sandra nodded and closed the door. Claire threw the sheets back and stepped out of bed. She grabbed her robe from the chair next to the door, pulled it on, and went downstairs.

"Hello?"

"Miss Standish? This is Alfred Peterson from Woodlake Funeral Home."

Claire rubbed a piece of sleep from the corner of her eye. "Yes, Mr. Peterson. What can I do for you?"

"I'm terribly sorry to be calling so early, but I was wondering if you'd had a chance to collect your thoughts and come up with a few things for the minister."

Claire blinked. "The minister?"

"Yes, for the service. Memories, poems, verses. Things like that."

Claire paused. "Oh. You mean…"

"About your mother."

Claire nodded. "Right." She took a deep breath and rubbed her eye with the tips of her fingers. "Do I need to speak with him?"

Mr. Peterson hesitated. "Well, that's generally how it works, but if you're busy, then you could just write them down and drop them off at the funeral home. I'll make sure he gets them."

Claire let out a sigh of relief. The last thing she wanted to do was spend time alone with someone that she hardly knew, talking about her mother, who was dead. "That would be better. Thank you."

"Of course. You can just drop them by my office. Reverend Coughlin is going to stop by before lunchtime, so I can give it to him then."

Claire nodded. "Alright, I can have them for you by then."

"Wonderful. I'll see you later, Miss Standish."

"Thank you." Claire hung up the phone and settled back on the couch. She sat there for a few minutes, staring up at the ceiling as if it held the answers she need. Finally, she stood up and went into the kitchen to make herself a cup of coffee.

* * *

Bender woke up on Tuesday morning with the sun in his eyes. He blinked a few times, then turned away, burying his face in the couch cushion he'd been using as a pillow. It smelled like stale potato chips and beer. He sighed and sat upright on the sofa. 

The first thing he did was pee. There was only one bathroom in the whole apartment, and it was cluttered with dirty towels and underwear, empty bottles of shampoo and cigarettes, rusty shaving cream cans, and three different kinds of hair gel. Bender picked up a carton of cigarettes, hoping to find a stick that C.J. had forgotten about, but it was empty.

Bender went into the kitchen and grabbed a beer from the fridge. There were empty beer cans on the kitchen counter and on the coffee table in the living room, but he didn't stop to clean them up. Instead, he found a lighter and a pack of cigarettes in the pocket of a jacket that C.J. had left on a chair in the living room and went outside.

He sat on the front step and smoked, alternating between drags on the cigarette and sips from the can of beer that was sitting on the step next to him. The sun was in his eyes, but he didn't care. He watched the cars drive past, left and right, and tried to wake up.

He'd been sitting there for about fifteen minutes when a red Honda Prelude pulled into the parking spot in front of the building. The driver, a tall, thin man wearing a red t-shirt and a pair of jeans, jumped out of the car, locked the door and started walking towards C.J.'s apartment.

"Hey," he said as he approached.

Bender nodded in greeting.

The guy nodded back. "Is C.J. here?"

"He's asleep."

"Right." The guy paused for a moment, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Finally he said, "Bender?"

Bender frowned. "Yeah?"

The man grinned. "Dude, it's Isaac."

"Isaac?" Bender echoed. He squinted and put a hand up to shade his eyes against the sun. And sure enough, it was him. He'd cut his hair and shaved his beard, but otherwise he looked exactly the same. "Hey."

Isaac cocked an eyebrow. "Didn't recognize me, man? How many of those have you had, anyway?" he asked, motioning towards Bender's beer can.

Bender rolled his eyes, but couldn't help that the corners of his mouth were curling up into a smile. "Not enough, if I can still see your ugly face."

Isaac grinned. "Fucker. So, what are you doin' here? I haven't seen you in forever."

Bender nodded. "Been a long time," he confirmed.

Isaac nodded. "So, you just here visiting?"

Bender shrugged and blew a puff of cigarette smoke off to the side. "Something like that."

"What have you been up to?"

Bender paused. "Work, mostly."

"You're still in Chicago, right?"

Bender nodded. "Still in Chicago," he echoed.

Isaac chuckled. "Better than this shit hole."

Bender let out a noncommittal grunt and took another drag from his cigarette.

Isaac ran a hand over the tips of his short, spiky hair and laughed. "So, that's why you never visit, huh? Too busy livin' the good life over in Chicago to come visit your lowlife friends from the neighborhood. I see how it is," he said, his voice dripping with playful sarcasm.

Bender smirked, but didn't say anything. He hadn't been back in Shermer for almost a year, and before that it had been nearly six months. C.J. often visited him in Chicago, but Bender tried to avoid going home if he didn't have to. On the few occasions when he did come back for a visit, he rarely left C.J.'s apartment and spent most of his time in front of the television, drinking beers and listening to C.J. make fun of the commercials.

"Anyway, I gotta go to work," said Isaac, glancing down at his watch. "You gonna be around for a while?"

Bender shrugged. "A couple days maybe."

Isaac nodded. "We'll hang out before you leave." He nodded in the direction of C.J.'s pack of cigarettes. "Those yours?"

Bender smirked. "No."

Isaac grinned and reached forward, taking one of the sticks from the pack and sliding it behind his ear. "Don't tell C.J."

Bender tried his best to look innocent. "About what?"

Isaac chuckled and started walking back to his car. "Later, man."

Bender nodded in reply, and Isaac waved, then got in his car and backed out of the parking spot.

When he was safely out of sight, Bender let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "Shit," he murmured.

* * *

Claire stared down at the piece of paper in front of her and let out a deep sigh. She'd been staring at the paper for the last thirty minutes, and the page was just as blank now as it was when she'd started. She tapped her pencil against the kitchen counter and glanced over her shoulder, where she had a clear view of the hallway that led to her father's office. 

Claire wanted to speak to her father before she gave Mr. Peterson the list of memories for her mother's funeral, but Sandra told her that he'd left for the office at about seven o'clock that morning. Claire had tried calling him at work, but no one had answered. More than likely, he was in a meeting with a client or one of the vice presidents.

Claire climbed down from the stool and started walking upstairs, pencil and paper in hand. She passed by her own bedroom and approached the door next to hers. She hesitated for a moment, then knocked firmly.

A few seconds passed before she heard anything at all. There was some rustling, then silence once more. Claire knocked again, louder this time.

Inside the room, someone groaned, and she could hear them rustling around again. Suddenly, the door opened.

"Hey," said Claire.

Daniel rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. "Hey," he replied.

Claire offered a wan, apologetic smile. "Sorry to wake you up so early, but I, uh…I need your help."

Daniel frowned. "Sure. With what?"

"Um…" She sighed. "Can I come in?"

He nodded and moved aside so that she could step into the room. She took a moment to look around, glancing at the posters on the wall and the pictures on his bookshelf. She motioned towards a poster of 'Jaws', which he'd had on his wall since he was in high school. "Stylish," she said, grinning.

Daniel looked up, then rolled his eyes when he saw what she was talking about. "Oh, yeah." He let out a short laugh. "I'm surprised Mom didn't come in and redecorate my room when I left. She hated those posters." He shook his head. "But she didn't touch anything."

Claire swallowed the lump in her throat. "I have to tell the minister about her," she blurted.

Daniel glanced over at her, surprised. "Really?"

Claire nodded. "Today." She took a deep breath. "He said I could write them down if I wanted to." She held up her right hand, which was still clutching the pencil and paper, then let it fall back to her side.

Daniel nodded slowly, but didn't say anything. After a moment, he walked over to a small sofa chair in the corner and dragged it over to his desk. He nodded at the desk chair, and Claire took a seat.

"So, what do they need to know?" he asked, looking over at the blank paper.

Claire shrugged. "I don't know. Whatever we can think of. Stories, memories…anything that reminds us of her." She paused. "The good stuff, I mean."

Daniel looked up at her, but didn't say anything about her last comment. "Alright," he said. "What about, um…" He drummed his fingers on the desk and glanced over at his bookshelf. After a few seconds, he pointed at a framed picture on the corner of the second shelf. "Vacations."

Claire nodded and picked up the picture he was pointing to. It was an old one, with just Daniel, Claire, their mother, and Aunt Irene. They were all standing outside of Irene's house in Florida, huddled around one another, grinning broadly. Daniel was mugging for the camera, arms crossed over his chest like a bouncer at a club. "What year was this?" she asked.

Daniel shrugged. "I don't know. I was in high school. You were nine or ten, I think."

Claire smiled fondly. "She was so pretty."

Daniel smiled. "Yeah, you remember Brett, my friend from the football team?"

Claire paused. "I think so. Was he the guy with the big teeth?"

Daniel laughed and nodded. "Yeah, that's him. He was so in love with Mom." He shook his head, still smiling. "I swear, he only came over to see her."

Claire laughed. "Really? That's…" She wrinkled her nose distastefully. "That's gross."

Daniel laughed out loud. "I know. I thought so, too."

Claire looked back at the photo in her hand. "Where was Dad?"

Daniel frowned. "I don't know. I don't think he went that year."

"Hmmm," Claire murmured, setting the frame down on the desk in front of her. Neither of them spoke for a moment. Then Claire said, "Do you think they were happy?"

Daniel was quiet for a few seconds. Finally he said, "I think so."

Claire watched him closely. "Really?"

Daniel looked over at her quickly, then glanced back at the photo. "Yeah," he said casually.

But Claire could hear the uncertainty in his voice. She looked down at the paper in front of her and took a deep breath.

At the top of the page, she wrote 'Vacations'.

* * *

A/N: Please let me know what you think. Thanks for reading! 


	14. Body Language

A/N: I hope you enjoy this chapter. Thank you for all of the reviews. I smile when I see one in my email box. : )

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* * *

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Chapter Fourteen: Body Language

* * *

Brian stayed in his room reading until about nine o'clock, then went to the bathroom to brush his teeth and wash his face. A few minutes before nine thirty, he walked downstairs to the kitchen, where he found a plate of warm toast sitting on the counter. Brian felt his stomach growl, and he sat down on one of the stools and took a piece of toast from the plate, which was stacked high with golden brown triangles. Then he opened up his copy of _Sister Carrie_ and ate while he read.

He'd been sitting there for about ten minutes when Claire walked in, her heels clicking loudly on the marble floor, a stack of papers clutched against her chest. Her hair--which was much longer than it had been in high school, falling just past her shoulders--had been pulled back with a clip, and she was wearing a black knee-length skirt with a pale blue lacy top. She looked like she was going to a job interview.

"Good morning," said Brian.

Claire smiled. "Good morning. Did you sleep well?"

Brian nodded and pushed the plate of toast away from himself. "Breakfast?"

Claire shook her head. "No, I've had some already." She sighed and took a seat next to him at the kitchen counter. "The D.A.R. is coming over."

Brian blinked. "The what?"

Claire sighed again. "The Daughters of the American Revolution. It's this group that my mom was a part of. It's like a historical society or something."

Brian nodded uncertainly. "Oh."

Claire tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and reached for a piece of toast, which she picked at, but didn't eat. "They're coming over to help me get ready for the funeral."

Brian nodded again. "That's nice of them."

Claire rolled her eyes. "Not really. They just want to sit around and act sympathetic." She pulled an envelope from the stack of papers in front of her, then turned to face him. "I was actually wondering if you could do me a favor."

Brian nodded quickly. "Of course."

Claire looked at her watch, a thin silver piece with a small face. "The women from the D.A.R. will be here in less than thirty minutes, but I have to have this envelope delivered to the funeral home by lunchtime, and I don't know if they'll be gone by then. I was thinking maybe you could take it for me."

Brian hesitated. "Well, I don't have a car."

"But Andy does," said Claire, smiling wanly. "I would ask him myself, but…"

Brian nodded understandingly. Andy had pretty much kept to himself since they'd arrived, and it was clear that he didn't want to be there. Brian imagined that Claire probably felt uncomfortable asking him to do her a favor when it was because of her that he was there in the first place. "I can ask him for you," he said.

Claire smiled gratefully and handed him the envelope, which was blank and unsealed. "Thanks. I really appreciate it."

Brian nodded. "No problem. I'll go ask him right now." He stood up from the stool and flashed Claire an encouraging smile. "Good luck with your meeting."

Claire rolled her eyes. "Thanks. I'm going to need it."

Brian laughed and walked out of the room, taking the stairs two at a time until he reached the second floor. When he reached Andy's room, he hesitated for only a moment, then knocked firmly on the door.

There was some rustling inside, then footsteps. A few seconds later, Andy opened the door, yawning widely.

"Hey," said Brian.

Andy nodded, apparently too sleepy to speak.

Brian cleared his throat. "Uh, Claire wanted us to…I mean, she asked if we could run an errand for her. To take this paper--" He held up the envelope so that Andy could see it. "--I mean _envelope_, to the funeral home. She'd got a group of ladies coming over to the house in a little while, so she can't do it herself, and I don't have a car, so I told her that we could take yours. I think she said this had to be over there by lunchtime, so--"

"So, I need to take you to the funeral home?" Andy interrupted, rubbing his eye with the palm of his hand.

Brian hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah."

Andy sighed and looked back over his shoulder, then back at Brian. "I need to change clothes," he said bluntly.

Brian nodded. "Of course. I'll just wait for you downstairs."

Andy nodded and stepped back into the room, shutting the door behind him. Brian let out a deep breath and turned around so that he could walk downstairs.

_That went well._

* * *

Allison stood in front of the mirror of the guest bathroom, staring back at her reflection. She was wearing an Annie Golden t-shirt and a pair of striped boxer shorts, and her hair was flat on one side from sleeping on it. She tried running her fingers through it to fluff it up, but it didn't really work. She supposed that she could probably use some kind of gel or mousse to give it more volume, but she had never put anything on her hair before that she didn't have to wash out in the shower. Besides, that was the beauty of the pixie cut: she didn't have to do anything to it.

Allison let her eyes travel down to her chest, which was covered in the baggy shirt that she'd stolen from a thrift shop down the street from her apartment building. She lifted up her arms and pulled the shirt over her head so that she was standing there in a bra and a pair of boxers. Tentatively, she ran a hand over her pale, flat stomach, her eyes still glued to her reflection in the mirror.

Her body hadn't changed much since high school. She was still long and thin, perhaps a bit thinner even. Her breasts were on the small side, but she'd never minded all that much. She knew she wasn't destined to be a supermodel, and she wouldn't have wanted to be one, even if she had the body.

Allison looked away from the mirror and down at the counter, where a few of her toiletries were sitting in a messy pile. She'd forgotten toothpaste and deodorant, a fact that she'd only become aware of the night before. The deodorant wasn't a huge issue just yet, but the toothpaste was. Last night, she'd used some from a tube that she'd found sitting on the bathroom counter. Brian's or Andy's most likely. It felt strange to her that she could be using Andy's toothpaste, so she pretended that it was Brian's.

She'd just applied a thin line of toothpaste to the brush and stuck it into her mouth when suddenly the door flew open and Andy stepped in. When he saw Allison standing there wearing nothing but a bra and a pair of boxers, he stopped short, his mouth dropping open. "Oh--" He looked away and stepped out into the hall, pulling the door closed.

Allison felt like her stomach was about to fall out of her bellybutton. Quickly, she picked up her shirt and threw it on over her head, the arm sleeve getting momentarily tangled with the toothbrush dangling from her mouth. Then she grabbed a handful of toiletries that she'd left on the counter and opened the door again.

Andy was standing out in the hall, looking back at his room as if he couldn't decide whether to stay or go. When he heard the door open, he glanced back at her and offered her an apologetic look. "Sorry," he muttered.

Allison just nodded, her heart hammering too loudly for her to think of anything else to say. Plus, she still had the toothbrush in her mouth, and she could feel a drop of toothpaste working its way onto the corner of her mouth. She felt like a complete idiot. So she did the only thing she knew to do.

She ran.

Well, it wasn't exactly running, more like speed walking. She rushed back to her room and shut the door behind her, leaning against it for a moment to catch her breath. Her mind was racing a mile a minute, but she couldn't really focus on any one thing. Well, that wasn't exactly true, because she was aware of one thing: Andy had seen her without her shirt on. In her bra. And boxer shorts. With a toothbrush in her mouth.

She felt like she was seventeen all over again.

_

* * *

Well, this morning is off to a great start._

Andy watched Allison disappear into her bedroom before he let out a deep sigh and walked into the bathroom again. He glanced around, hoping he wouldn't find her underwear or tampons lying around. Well, maybe her underwear wouldn't be so bad.

He washed in face in the sink and used a wadded up hand towel to dry his face off. It smelled faintly of flowers, and Andy wondered if the scent came from a fabric softener or from Allison. No, Allison didn't use perfume.

Andy shook his head. Sharing a bathroom with his ex-girlfriend--no, with _Allison_--was definitely not something that he'd signed up for when he'd agreed to come back to Shermer. In fact, if he'd known of his living situation in advance, he probably would have told Brian that he wasn't going.

Come to think of it, there were a lot of reasons that he would have said no if he'd known about them in advance.

Andy sighed and reached for his toothpaste, only to find that the cap was missing. He looked around for a moment and finally found it on the counter in front of his deodorant. He brushed his teeth quickly, put on some deodorant, and walked out of the bathroom.

When he got downstairs, dressed in a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt, he found Brian sitting at the kitchen counter reading a thick book. He glanced up as Andy walked in. "You ready?" he asked.

Andy nodded.

Brian nodded to a plate of toast sitting on the kitchen counter. "Do you want to eat before we leave? They're still warm."

Andy felt his stomach turn over at the thought. "No, that's okay."

Brian nodded and grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair. "Okay, let's go."

* * *

After giving Brian the envelope to give to Mr. Peterson, Claire tried calling her father at his office. The phone rang more than a dozen times before she finally hung up, exasperated. _Where is he?_

She spent the next fifteen minutes getting the house ready for the D.A.R. women. She didn't care one bit about what they thought of the house _or_ of her, but she knew that her mother would, so she made sure that the dining room and the sitting room were as neat and presentable as possible. She even pulled out a tray of lemon bars that someone had brought over and put them on the dining room table as a snack.

She was in the kitchen trying to find some napkins when Allison wandered in wearing a pair of jeans and a black Ramones t-shirt. She was glancing around the room as though she was either lost or looking for someone.

"Good morning," said Claire.

Allison looked up, startled. "Hey," she said, walking up to the kitchen counter.

"Did you sleep well?"

Allison nodded and took a piece of toast from the plate on the counter, then paused and looked up at Claire for permission. Claire nodded. "Do you want some milk or something?"

Allison nodded and swallowed a bite of toast. "Okay."

Claire grabbed a glass from the cabinet next to the refrigerator, then took the milk carton out of the refrigerator and poured her a glass. Allison accepted it without a word and continued eating her toast.

Claire spent the next few minutes tidying the kitchen, all the while sneaking glances at Allison, who was making quick work of the toast in front of her. Claire couldn't really tell what Allison was thinking--about the toast _or_ her trip to Shermer--but she didn't quite know how to find out. Allison hadn't volunteered much about her life in New York over the past three years, and Claire had to admit that she was afraid to ask. New York was a big city, and the only parts of it that Claire had seen were the hotels and the department stores of Midtown and the Upper East Side. She was pretty sure that Allison's experience was a lot different than hers.

"Is someone coming over?"

Claire looked up. "Sorry?"

Allison nodded at the stack of napkins Claire was folding. "Is someone coming over?"

"Oh." Claire sighed. "Yeah, some of my mother's friends from the D.A.R. These are just for snacks." She paused. "You can stay with us, if you want, but it'll probably be really boring."

Allison nodded and took another sip of milk, and Claire figured she had her answer. A few seconds later, the doorbell rang, and Claire glanced down at her watch. 9:54. They were early.

"I'll be right back," said Claire. Allison didn't respond, just picked another piece of toast up from the stack and took a large bite.

When Claire opened the door, she was surprised to see John standing on her front porch, hands jammed into the pockets of his faded black jeans, his hair ruffled as though he'd just rolled out of bed. He still hadn't shaved, and the growth looked about four or five days old, by her estimation.

Claire smiled nervously. "Um, hey. Come on in."

John nodded politely and stepped into the foyer, then waited for her shut the door so that she could lead him into the kitchen. "Brian and Andy just left to run an errand for me, but they should be back later," she said. They walked into the kitchen, where Allison was still perched on the stool at the kitchen counter eating. When she heard them approaching, she turned and let her eyes fall on John.

John nodded in her direction, and Allison, mouth full of toast, managed a crooked smile. Claire waiting for them to greet one another, but neither of them said anything, just looked back at Claire as if awaiting further instructions. It occurred to her that she was the one that had asked them to come back to Shermer in the first place, and they were probably still wondering what she need from them. As if she knew the answer any more than they did.

Claire turned to John, who hadn't spoken a word since he'd arrived. "I was just telling Allison that some of my mother's friends are coming over in a few minutes, and I don't know how long they'll be here." She paused uncomfortably. "You can stay here if you want, or you can leave and come back when they're gone. Then we can…" She trailed off, her cheeks warm with embarrassment. _Then we can what, Claire?_

John cocked an eyebrow, but didn't say anything. He seemed to be enjoying her discomfort, which meant that some things never changed.

"Do you have a car?"

Claire and John both glanced over at Allison, who was watching them from her stool. She glanced over at John and lifted her eyebrows expectantly. "Do you?"

John nodded. "You wanna take it for a spin?"

A ghost of a smile passed over Allison's face. "You'd let me do that?"

John scoffed. "Hell, no."

Allison grinned, and John smirked. Claire felt her stomach tighten, a wave of jealousy washing over her unexpectedly. Allison took another sip of milk and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

"I need a ride to the grocery store," she said, looking straight at John.

"So?" asked John.

Allison appeared unfazed by the comment. "So, I need you to take me. I forgot some stuff."

"What do I look like, a chauffeur?"

Allison just stared back at him, waiting for a real answer.

"I can take you," Claire blurted.

John glanced over at her, frowning. "I thought you had people coming over."

Claire felt her cheeks heating up again. "Oh…yeah, I do. Never mind."

John looked back at Allison. "You wanna go _now_?"

Allison shrugged and stepped down from the stool, grabbing the grey knit jacket that she'd draped over the stool next to her. Claire watched the two of them for a moment, noting the effortless way they communicated. They had been that way in high school too, exchanging glances and making faces that Claire could never decipher. She remembered feeling left out when she spent time with them, and the feeling returned as she stood there in her kitchen, watching them get ready to leave.

"You need to get money or anything?" John asked. Allison shook her head briefly, and he nodded, then started walking out of the kitchen. Claire and Allison followed him into the foyer, but before he could open the door, the doorbell rang. Everyone froze, staring at the door.

Claire felt a wave of dread wash over her. "That's for me," she said flatly. She took a deep breath and walked over to the door, hesitating for only a moment before she opened it.

There were about ten women gathered on the front porch, all of them dressed as though they were en route to an important business meeting or political rally. Claire automatically recognized Caroline Hartford, one of her mother's closest friends from the group.

"Oh, Claire, sweetie," she said, stepping forward to embrace her warmly. Claire let herself relax into the hug for half an instant before letting go.

"Hello, Mrs. Hartford," she said politely.

"How are you holding up, dear? You look so lovely in blue." Mrs. Hartford gave her the once-over, then looked back up at her face. "You look so much like her, you know."

Claire didn't know whether to burst into tears or shove the door in her face. So, she just stood there, smiling. "Thank you," she said lamely.

Mrs. Hartford nodded sympathetically, and the women beside her followed suit, their eyes heavy with sadness, some of it real and some of it for show. Claire kept the smile plastered onto her face.

Then she remembered John and Allison. She glanced behind her and saw them standing a few feet away, watching her quietly. "Oh, sorry," she said, turning back to the women on her porch. "These are m--" She stopped, wondering what she was supposed to call them. _My friends?_

John cocked an eyebrow expectantly, and Claire felt her stomach tighten into a little ball. It was like he was daring her, after all these years, to reclaim them as friends. But is that what he even wanted in the first place, or did he just want to watch her squirm? He'd hardly said two words to her since he'd arrived, and his body language was cold and unwelcoming, especially when he was around her. What was he thinking?

Claire looked back at the women gathered on her front porch and smiled as brightly as she possibly could. "This is John and Allison."

The women nodded and murmured their greetings as John and Allison stepped onto the porch, brushing past them to get to John's car. Most of them were polite, but Claire could see the way their eyes flickered down to John's Metallica t-shirt and Allison's ratty coat. She watched as one woman's nose turned up as John passed, the smell of nicotine obviously too much for her sensitive nostrils. Claire expected to feel embarrassed, but instead felt a shiver of satisfaction go down her spine.

When John and Allison reached his car, Claire looked back at Caroline Hartford, who was watching her with a tender, unreadable expression on her face. Claire suddenly realized that she still hadn't invited them into her house. She could only imagine what her mother would have done if she'd been there to see her only daughter forget all of her manners in front of her closest friends.

"Come in," said Claire, stepping aside to give the women room to pass by. Caroline Hartford smiled and touched Claire's arm lightly as she passed, but the other women immediately started walking into the sitting room, making comments about the artwork and the marble flooring as they went. When the last woman entered the house, Claire took a peek outside, where she could see John's small black car pulling out of the driveway and onto the street. She closed the door and looked back towards the sitting room, where she could hear the women talking about an antique bud vase her mother had purchased at an auction last summer.

Claire took one last deep breath, then walked into the sitting room to entertain her guests.

* * *

A/N: This chapter is part one of two, in a way. I'll try to have the next one out as soon as possible. Please leave me a review. Thanks! 


	15. Tea and Sympathy

A/N: I think my author's note in the last chapter might have been a bit misleading. I just meant that chapters 14 and 15 were sort of like one big chapter, but in two parts. As it is, I shifted things around a bit and extended it, so I guess you can ignore all of that anyway!

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Chapter Fifteen: Tea and Sympathy

* * *

Bender pulled out of Claire's driveway and onto the street, glancing briefly to his left to check for oncoming traffic. Neither he nor Allison spoke as he directed them out of Claire's neighborhood and back onto the main road that went through town.

"Where did you want me to take you?" he asked, coming up to a stoplight.

"It doesn't matter. Just a supermarket or something."

Bender looked over at her. "You hungry?"

Allison shrugged and pulled her jacket tighter against her body. "Are you?"

"I'm fuckin' starving. Isn't there a McDonald's around here somewhere?"

Allison nodded. "By the big shoe store."

Bender frowned. "Over off Highland Park Boulevard?"

Allison shrugged again, crossing her arms over her chest.

Bender looked back at the road, and neither of them spoke during the three minutes that it took them to get to the fast food restaurant. He pulled into the parking lot, then behind the restaurant, stopping at the drive-in menu. "What do you want?" he asked her.

Allison looked at the menu, her face scrunching up comically as she strained to read the small print. After a few seconds she said, "Fries. And a milkshake."

"Chocolate or vanilla?"

"Vanilla."

Bender nodded and pulled up to the speaker box a few feet ahead. After a moment, a man's voice sounded from the speaker. "Hello, welcome to McDonald's. May I take your order?"

Bender ordered Allison's fries and milkshake and a hamburger combo for himself. When the man gave him the total and asked him to pull up to the window, he saw Allison moving around out of the corner of his eyes. He glanced over at her in time to see her remove a small wad of bills out of the front of her t-shirt.

"I thought women usually did that with toilet paper."

Allison looked up from her money and glared at him, then handed him a couple of bills. Bender accepted them without counting, smirking the whole time. "You keep anything else in there?" he asked.

Allison looked unimpressed. "_You'll_ never find out."

Bender cocked an eyebrow. "Touché." He pulled up to the drive-in window and paid for their meals. Then he handed Allison her milkshake, put the bag of food between them, and pulled out onto the main road again.

Allison immediately pulled out her fries and started eating. After a couple of minutes she asked, "Is this your car?"

Bender pulled up to a stoplight and turned to face her. "No, it belongs to a friend."

"It smells like cigarette smoke."

"So, get out and walk."

Allison didn't respond to that, just popped open the lid to her milkshake and dipped one of the fries into the white, creamy dessert. Bender wrinkled his nose. "That's disgusting."

"Your car is disgusting," she retorted, kicking an empty fast food bag at her feet. She took another bite of French fry and looked back up at him. "Your _friend's_ car," she said, correcting herself.

Bender scoffed and grabbed a handful of fries from the bag between them. "Since when are you the authority on cleanliness?"

Allison's mouth was too full for her to say anything, so she just stared at him, eyebrows lifted to show that she wasn't amused or impressed by his comments.

The light turned green, and Bender took his foot off the brake. "That's what I thought."

* * *

"So, I told the man. I said, 'I am not going to pay four hundred dollars for a couch with a broken leg. I don't care who it belonged to originally.' So, he lowered the price to three-fifty."

Claire nodded. "Wow, that's really--"

"Of course, I would have paid the full four hundred, but why may more if you don't have to, right?" The woman, Mrs. Norris or Morris--Claire couldn't remember which--smiled broadly, and Claire saw a piece of spinach poking out from between her front teeth.

"That's a great bargain," said Claire.

The woman nodded and pointed at Claire's plate, where a piece of spinach quiche was sitting untouched. "Did you want another one?"

Claire glanced down at the plate, her stomach turning over at the thought. She glanced up, trying not to look directly at the woman's teeth. "No, I'm fine. Thank you."

Mrs. Norris-Morris flashed Claire a quick smile and wandered back over to the dining room table, where the women had set up a miniature buffet of sorts. Quiches, chocolate cake, fresh fruit and cream cheese dip had been brought in and spread out across the table, and Claire's measly platter of lemon bars had been pushed off to the side, where it had gone all but untouched. Claire felt disappointed in herself that she hadn't thought to have Sandra prepare more food for her guests. These women were probably used to coming over to her house and being given the royal treatment by her mother, who was an excellent hostess. Catherine Standish never would have served _lemon bars_.

"So, when did you come in, sweetie?"

Claire looked up to see Caroline Hartford standing in front of her, a cup of hot tea in one hand. "I'm sorry?"

"I was just wondering when you came into town."

"Oh." Claire paused for a moment, trying to focus. "Um, on Saturday. In the afternoon sometime."

Mrs. Hartford nodded and took a sip of her tea. "Have you been busy with funeral plans? I remember when my father passed away last year. It seemed like there was always something else that needed to be done."

Claire took a deep breath and nodded. "That's how it feels sometimes."

Mrs. Hartford put a hand on Claire's arm and gave her a tender smile. "You just have to take it one moment at a time."

Claire forced a smile onto her face and took a sip from her own cup of tea. One moment at a time. _How does that work exactly, when everything seems to be coming at me at once? _But Claire didn't say that out loud. While she really just wanted everyone to go away and let her curl up in bed for a few days, she knew that she couldn't be rude to her mother's friends, especially women like Caroline Hartford, who had loved her mother and would do anything for Claire, her friend's only daughter.

"Now, where is your brother?" she asked, cutting into Claire's thoughts. "Is he here yet?"

Claire nodded. "He flew in on Sunday."

Mrs. Hartford nodded again. "And your father? I haven't seen him at all."

"Well, isn't that a surprise?"

Claire whirled around to see Irene standing behind her, a hand on one hip and an eyebrow cocked in challenge. "Calvin's usually so involved when it comes to these family events," she said sarcastically. "I'm surprised he'd miss this."

Claire turned back to Caroline Hartford and forced another smile. "Mrs. Hartford, this is my aunt, Irene Dandridge. Irene is my mother's sister."

Mrs. Hartford gave her a sympathetic look. "I am so sorry for your loss. I can't even imagine what it would be like to lose one of my sisters."

Irene smiled blandly. "Thank you. That's very kind."

If Mrs. Hartford noticed the ironic tone in Irene's voice, she didn't show it. "I knew Catherine from the D.A.R. She was such a kind woman, always looking for ways to help." She flashed Claire a smile. "I can see where Claire gets her hospitality skills."

"Yes, well, she certainly didn't get them from her father, did she?" Irene asked. Before the other woman could respond, Irene turned to Claire and put a hand on her niece's arm. "Claire, darling, where is the aspirin? I've got an awful headache, and all of this noise is doing nothing for it."

Claire managed a tight smile. "In the cabinet over the sink in the kitchen."

"Thank you." Then, without saying anything else to either of them, she walked out of the room and into the hallway leading to the kitchen.

Claire turned back to Mrs. Hartford. "That was my aunt Irene."

Mrs. Hartford nodded. "She seems very sweet."

Claire nodded. "She's from Florida," she said, as if this explained everything.

"Oh, really? It's so lovely down there."

Claire nodded again, imagining herself lounging on the sand on Cocoa Beach, the sun warm against her skin, the waves lapping at her feet. "Yes," Claire said dreamily. "Yes, it is."

* * *

Andy and Brian pulled into the funeral home parking lot at exactly ten o'clock. They'd been forced to pull over at a gas station to ask for directions since Brian had forgotten to ask Claire where the building was located, but after wandering around for a while they'd finally located it just a few miles from Claire's house, right next to the elementary school.

"Wow, this is nice," said Brian, stepping into the front hall.

Andy grunted, but didn't respond. He followed Brian through the front hall, which was sparse, but very elegant, and into the main lobby, where a woman in a dark blue suit sat at a large wooden desk, a phone pressed against one ear.

"I'll be sure to tell him, Mrs. Morgan. Thank you for calling." She hung up the phone, jotted a few notes on a message pad sitting in front of her, and looked up at the boys. "May I help you?" she asked.

Brian nodded and stepped up to her desk. "Uh, yeah, we're looking for Mr. Peterson."

The woman smiled apologetically. "I'm afraid he's meeting with someone right now. Can I take a message for him?"

Brian shook his head. "Um, no. I need to give this to him. It's from Claire Standish. Her mother is…" He trailed off, glancing back at Andy uncertainly. Andy didn't know what Brian was looking for him to say, so he didn't say anything.

"Yes, I know Miss Standish," said the receptionist. "I can give the papers to Mr. Peterson when he's finished, if you don't have time to wait. Otherwise, you're welcome to stay and wait for him. He shouldn't be much longer."

Brian glanced back at Andy again. Andy sighed. What was he going to do, say that they couldn't wait because he needed to get back to the house so that he could go back to bed? "We can wait," he said.

Brian nodded politely at the receptionist, who smiled and motioned to a group of couches on the other side of the lobby. "You can have a seat over there, and I'll let you know when he's available."

"Okay, thanks," said Brian. He and Andy walked across the room and sat down in a pair of overstuffed leather chairs. Andy settled back into his chair, closing his eyes and shifting around until he was comfortable. He wondered if he could go to sleep like this.

"So, uh, when are you going to see your parents?"

Andy opened his eyes and glanced over at Brian. "I don't know," he said after a moment's hesitation.

Brian nodded and looked down at the envelope in his hand. He sat there thoughtfully for a moment, running his thumb over the top of the envelope. Finally he said, "I'm having dinner with my parents tonight."

Andy just stared at him, wondering for the millionth time how he was supposed to respond. "Oh, really?" he asked, too tired to really care, but hoping he sounded at least a little bit sincere.

Brian nodded. He opened his mouth to say something else, then stopped and looked back down at his lap.

Andy paused uncomfortably, thinking that he should probably say something. "When is the last time you went home?" he asked.

Brian looked up. "Home? Uh, for Christmas. I stayed for about a month." He paused. "What about you?"

Andy sighed. "Same."

Brian nodded. "Are your parents bugging you to come over?"

Andy hesitated. "No, not really." Before Brian could ask him any more questions, he went on. "Yours?"

Brian nodded. "Yeah, my mom is, uh…" He paused thoughtfully, then shrugged. "I don't know. She wants to see me, I guess."

Andy nodded slowly. "You don't seem very excited," he observed.

"Oh." Brian thought about that for a moment, then nodded. "It's not that. I just hate having to answer all those questions, you know? Like, about my classes and stuff. I just feel like I'm back in high school or something."

Andy watched him closely for a moment. "Yeah," he said finally.

Brian didn't expand upon his situation, just yawned broadly and reached up to rub his eyes. When he pulled his hand away, Andy could see that they were red around the edges, as if he had been drinking or something.

Andy frowned. "You okay?"

Brian looked up. "Huh? Oh." He sat up straight in his chair and started tugging on the zipper of his jacket. "Yeah, I'm just kinda tired."

Andy let out a short, derisive chuckle. "Yeah, me, too."

Brian looked over at him, narrowing his eyes. "When did you go to sleep last night?"

Andy frowned. "I don't know. Ten, maybe." He paused. "Why?"

Brian shrugged. "Nothing. You've just been sleeping a lot since we got here."

"So?"

Noting the defensive tone in Andy's voice, Brian looked up. "So, I just noticed you've been sleeping a lot. That's it."

Andy opened his mouth to respond, then decided that it wasn't worth the energy. He settled back into his seat, wishing that Mr. Peterson would hurry the hell up and get out of his meeting so that he could get back to Claire's house and go back to bed.

* * *

Bender pulled into the Walker's Super Foods parking lot just as Allison was finishing her French fries. He found a spot near the front, and they sat in the car for a while so that Bender could finish his food. After about fifteen minutes, he wadded up the empty sack of food and tossed it into the back seat. He glanced over at her, and she nodded, signaling that she was ready to go inside. She took her milkshake with her, and Bender locked both of their doors for them.

When they got inside, Bender stopped and took a look around. "I'll be outside," he said. Allison nodded and watched him walk back outside, a pack of cigarettes already in hand as he disappeared through the sliding glass doors.

After a few minutes of wandering around, Allison found the cosmetics and hygiene section. She found her toothpaste and deodorant within a few minutes and started walking back to the registers to pay for them. But before she could get very far, a display of hair products caught her eye. She picked up a bottle of mousse, remembering how horribly her hair had looked in the mirror that morning after waking up. Maybe the mousse would help. Then again, so would a brush or comb. Maybe she should start with one of those.

Allison looked back at the display again, and a flash of red on the next aisle over caught her eye. It was an older woman dressed in a red blouse and black slacks. She was tall and thin, but not too skinny, and her dark brown hair had been pulled back with a set of tortoiseshell combs. She reached up to take a package of Tylenol from the top shelf, and Allison got a glimpse of her face.

It was her mother.

Without thinking, Allison shoved the deodorant, toothpaste and hair mousse into the pocket of her jacket and started walking towards the exit. Her heart was pounding so loudly that it practically drowned out the classical music pouring out of the store's speakers overhead. A security guard gave her a funny look as she passed, but she kept walking, out of the sliding glass doors and into the parking lot, where Bender was standing on the sidewalk smoking a cigarette.

"I'm ready," she said quickly, coming up behind him.

Bender looked back and frowned. "I thought you had to buy something."

Allison glanced behind her, where the security guard she'd passed inside was coming out of the store, eyes narrowed in her direction. She looked back at Bender. "I changed my mind," she said firmly.

Bender glanced behind her at the security guard, then looked back at her. He nodded and threw his half-used cigarette onto the ground, stubbing it out with the tip of his boot. They started walking out to the car.

Allison trailed behind him, matching his long strides. She yanked open the door and slid inside, the smell of French fries and cigarettes rushing into her nostrils. Bender started the car and put it in reverse.

Neither of them spoke as Bender pulled out of the parking lot and onto the street. After a couple of minutes Allison turned to look at him. "Thanks."

Bender just nodded curtly, never taking his eyes off the road.

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A/N: Please review. Thank you. : ) 


	16. Pull Yourself Together

A/N: Enjoy your extra-long Bender-centric chapter. : )

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Chapter Sixteen: Pull Yourself Together

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Bender pulled up to the stoplight at the corner of Smith and Vine and glanced over at Allison, who was slumped over in the passenger seat, gazing out the window. She hadn't spoken in nearly fifteen minutes and didn't seem to remember that he was there.

Bender didn't have any desire to remind her. She appeared lost in her own thoughts, and the somber look on her face suggested that they weren't very pleasant. She'd calmed down considerably since they'd left the parking lot, but when she'd first walked out of the store with the security guard on her tail and a bulge in her pocket, there was something in her eyes--something wild and desperate--that told him he didn't want to ask any questions. Besides, who was he to judge? He'd done some shoplifting himself, back in high school and middle school, before he had a job.

The light turned green again, and Bender released his foot from the brake, nudging the gas pedal with the tip of his boot. He didn't know where he was going. Allison hadn't mentioned needing to stop anywhere else, and he figured that it was unnecessary to ask at this point anyway. He considered taking them back to Claire's house, but Allison didn't look like she was in any position to be social, and he felt roughly the same way.

So, he kept driving. He hadn't seen much of Shermer in the past three years, having kept mostly to his side of town when he stopped in for one of his infrequent visits, and he was surprised to see how it had changed in his absence. There were more shops, more restaurants, more fast food joints. The tiny mall at the edge of town had undergone some major expansions, and it was nearly twice the size it had been when he'd avoided it in high school.

It took him about twenty minutes to get from one end of town to the other, taking side roads and winding in and out of neighborhoods like a snake. Before he knew it, he was back on his side of town, stopped at a light next to the Taco Hut, a hole in the wall place where he and his friends would hang out a lot during and after high school, taking advantage of the restaurant's free refills and stealing ketchup packets just because they could. Bender glanced over at Allison, who was still leaning against the door, staring out of the passenger side window.

At the next intersection, he made a U-turn and headed back to Claire's house.

* * *

"It was lovely seeing you, dear."

"Such a shame your father wasn't here. Poor man."

"Now you just let us know if there's anything we can do, sweetie. Anything at all."

Claire smiled as broadly as she possibly could. "I will," she lied. "Thank you so much for stopping by."

The women started making their way to the front door, purses clutched in one hand, talking amongst themselves about where they were going to have lunch. Claire followed them out of the sitting room and into the foyer, smiling as the women said their goodbyes and expressed their sympathies concerning her mother's passing. Then she heard the front door open, and someone exclaimed, "Calvin!"

Claire glanced up to see her father standing in the doorway wearing a light grey suit and carrying a briefcase in one hand. The women moved aside to give him room, and he stepped inside as they all started talking at once.

"Oh, Calvin, it's such a shame."

"Is there anything we can do to help?"

"You look like you haven't slept in days."

"You poor man."

Mr. Standish nodded politely, and Claire pushed through the crowd of women, stopping only when she reached her father. "Daddy," she said urgently, grabbing ahold of his elbow.

Mr. Standish looked down at her and smiled fondly, reaching around to wrap and arm around her shoulders. Claire felt a wave of comfort sweep over her, and she relaxed against him, ignoring all of the women clamoring for his attention.

"Thank you for coming over. Claire and I really appreciate your support," he said, flashing the group a sad smile. The women responded with fluttering eyelashes and sympathetic smiles, and, one by one, finally started filtering out of the front door. Claire hardly said a word as they left, just let her father do all of the talking as she stood there leaning against him, her head resting lightly on his shoulder.

When the last woman finally stepped onto the front porch, closing the door behind her, Claire let out a deep sigh. "Thank God," she muttered.

Her father chuckled and patted her on the back, releasing her from his embrace. "Was it really that bad, Princess?"

Claire took a deep breath. "Almost."

Her father smiled indulgently. "I'm sure you did a wonderful job."

Claire managed a weak, appreciative smile. "Thanks."

Mr. Standish nodded and glanced down at his watch. "I've got to hurry. I've got a conference call coming in at eleven, and I still have to--"

"I thought you just came from work," Claire interrupted.

"I did," he responded. "And I had to fight like hell to get back home in time to take this call here so that I wouldn't be stuck in the office all day."

Claire paused, momentarily at a loss for words. "I thought you would be home more," she said, knowing how pitiful it sounded.

Mr. Standish sighed. "I know, pumpkin. So did I. But this is a bad week at work, and everyone is really busy. I _have_ to get stuff done or--"

"The viewing is _tonight_," said Claire, her jaw trembling with anger and unshed tears. "_Mom's_ viewing."

Her father opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by the phone ringing in his office. He glanced down the hall, then back at his daughter, his eyes heavy with indecision. "I know it's tonight, sweetheart. But I _have_ to take this call."

Claire didn't say anything, just swallowed deeply, too tired and angry to even nod.

The phone rang again, and Mr. Standish sighed. "I'll make this up to you, sweetheart. I promise." He leaned forward to kiss her on the cheek, then turned and disappeared down the hall leading to his office.

Claire just stood there for a moment, too upset to even move. Then she felt the tears pricking the back of her eyes, and she made a break for the staircase, taking it up to the second floor. When she reached her room, she shut the door behind her and burst into tears.

She leaned back against the door for a few seconds, shoulders shaking, then walked over to the bed and grabbed her pillow, curling up around it in a little ball. The tears felt like they were coming up from her toes, and it seemed like they would never stop. She just let them flow, too tired to do anything else.

After a while, there was nothing left to let out. Claire stretched her arm out across the bed and let her eyelids flutter closed, completely spent of all energy. She didn't know how long she lay there like that, but it couldn't have been more than ten minutes. She just knew that the bed was soft, and her room was quiet, and there wasn't a quiche in sight.

She was wondering how long she could stay holed up in her room without anyone noticing she was missing when she remembered something her mother had told her once:

"_Just go someplace private and have yourself a good cry. And then when you're done, you pull yourself together, go back out there, and smile as though nothing happened…but don't forget to fix your eye make-up first."_

Claire sighed and sat up in bed. _Easy for you to say_, she thought to herself. _You had a lot more practice than I have._

But she did it anyway. She hauled herself off of the bed and went into her bathroom, where she washed her face and reapplied her makeup, paying careful attention to her mascara and eye shadow, then she brushed her hair out and pulled it back again with a clip. When she was finished, she studied her appearance in the mirror, searching for evidence of her breakdown. There was none.

Satisfied, she turned off the light and went back downstairs to clean up after her guests.

* * *

Bender pulled into Claire's circular driveway just after eleven-thirty, noting with satisfaction that the Buicks and the Cadillacs were gone, leaving the driveway empty, with the exception of one Mercedes that he hadn't noticed earlier. He glanced over at Allison, who finally snapped out of her daze long enough to open the passenger door and climb out. He locked up after them, knowing that it was unnecessary to the point of being absurd, but refusing to care.

When they were inside, Allison glanced over at him. "Thanks."

Bender nodded. "Sure."

Allison didn't say anything else, just pulled her jacket a bit closer to her body and started climbing the steps. Bender watched her until she reached the top of the staircase and disappeared down the hall on the second floor.

When she was out of his sight, Bender turned away from the staircase and took a long look around. It wasn't the first time that he'd been to Claire's house; he'd visited her a couple of times during that last summer after she graduated. He remembered how foreign everything had felt to him at the time, how awestruck he'd been by the marble floors and the crystal chandeliers and the plush, unstained carpets. Almost as awestruck as he'd been by the idea of making out with the homecoming queen.

But Bender wasn't in high school anymore, and the things that impressed him at eighteen weren't the same things that impressed him at twenty-two. He'd done his fair share of work on rich people's houses during the past four years, and gradually he'd become desensitized to the expensive floors and the artwork that cost more than he made in a year. After a while, he felt almost as comfortable walking into one of the mansions in Lincoln Park as he did the run-down apartment of his own neighborhood downtown. Almost.

Bender spent a moment waiting around in the foyer before making his way into the kitchen, where he found Brian sitting on a stool at the counter reading a thick paperback book. When Bender walked in, Brian looked up, eyes wide. "Hey."

Bender walked over to the refrigerator and leaned back against the granite countertop. "Where is everyone?"

"Oh, uh…" Brian looked behind him. "I don't know. Andy is upstairs sleeping, I think. I don't know where Allison and Claire are."

Bender nodded and glanced down at the countertop, running his callused fingertips over the smooth, glossy stone.

"So, where are you staying?"

Bender glanced up at Brian, who was watching him expectantly, his closed book sitting on the counter in front of him. "At a friend's house," Bender answered.

"The guy I talked to on the phone?"

"Yeah, that's him."

Brian nodded. "Where are you living now?"

"Chicago."

"Oh," said Brian, the almost comical expression on his face betraying his surprise.

Bender hesitated. "What?"

Brian looked up at him. "Oh, nothing. I just didn't realize that you were so close by."

"It's far enough," Bender said flatly.

Brian paused, then nodded slowly. "Right."

Bender cleared his throat. Already, he needed another cigarette. At this rate, he'd never quit. "Where are you at?" he asked.

"Cambridge, Massachusetts," Brian answered. He paused. "Harvard."

Bender nodded. "How's that goin'?"

Brian shrugged. "It's going well, I guess."

"You gonna be a doctor or somethin'?"

Brian's eyes widened. "Oh, no, I'm not." He paused. "I mean, I don't think so, you know? I don't know yet. Because I could just get my Bachelor's degree in English Literature and teach high school or something, but my parents want me to go further so that I can teach college." He stopped to take a breath. "I just don't know what I want to do."

Bender nodded solemnly. "Decisions, decisions. How will you ever choose?"

Brian nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, I know, It's--" Then he stopped, glancing up at Bender uncertainly. "You were making fun of me, weren't you?"

Bender nodded.

Brian blushed. "Right."

Bender smirked. "So, you're gonna be a high school teacher?"

Brian nodded. "English teacher."

Bender nodded slowly. "High school English teacher," he echoed.

Brian hesitated, probably wondering what Bender was getting at. "Well, maybe…you know, if I decide not to get another degree."

Bender didn't say anything to this, just shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket and stared back at Brian, one eyebrow cocked doubtfully.

Brian watched him uncomfortably for a moment before speaking. "What?"

Bender shrugged. "Nothing."

"_What_?" Brian asked, more urgently this time. "Just say it."

Bender smiled. "I was just thinking about you standing up at the front of a classroom, reading some sonnet by Shakespeare or Dickens--"

"Dickens didn't write sonnets," Brian interrupted.

"--or _whoever_," Bender said irritably, eyes narrowed in Brian's direction. Brian nodded sheepishly and let him continue. "Anyway," Bender went on. "You're standing up there reading, and suddenly a spitball hits you right in the middle of your forehead."

There was a moment of silence before Brian spoke. "That's what you were thinking?" Brian asked finally.

Bender nodded.

Brian glared at him. "That's really nice of you."

Bender pulled both of his hands out of his pockets. "You asked."

Brian was quiet for a moment before he spoke again. "That's probably how it's going to be."

Bender glanced up. "Oh, yeah?"

Brian nodded and smiled to keep himself from laughing. "Yeah, and it'll probably be your kid throwing the spitball."

Bender smirked. "Nah, not my kid."

"No?"

Bender shook his head, barely able to suppress his smile. "No, my kid will be the one out in the parking lot, super gluing your wipers to the windshield."

Brian burst out laughing, and Bender couldn't help but follow suit. The two of them stood there laughing for a few seconds until Bender heard a pair of high heels snapping against the marble floor.

"What's so funny?"

Bender looked up to see Claire standing a few feet behind Brian, smiling hesitantly.

Bender straightened up immediately and glanced over at Brian, who was wiping his eyes. "Bender was just being a jerk," he explained.

Claire glanced over at Bender uncertainly, and Bender let his face go blank. "Oh," she said lightly. "Imagine that."

Bender cocked at eyebrow, and she looked away, back at Brian. "Did everything turn out okay with Mr. Peterson?" she asked him.

Brian nodded. "Yeah, we gave him the envelope. He said he'll see you tonight."

Claire nodded and smiled. "Thanks for doing that, Brian."

Brian smiled and nodded. "Sure, no problem. Also, Mr. Peterson wanted me to tell you that…"

Brian started listing off a bunch of meaningless information as Claire nodded thoughtfully. Bender didn't have any idea what they were talking about, and he felt uncomfortable watching them carry on such a casual, private conversation while he was still in the room. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he waited for them to finish.

"…and that he set up all of the flowers in the room where they're going to hold the viewing."

Claire nodded. "Okay, thank you."

"Sure," Brian replied.

Claire glanced over at Bender, who was still watching her closely. "The viewing is tonight," she explained.

Bender nodded.

"It's at five…if you wanted to come."

Bender nodded again. "Okay."

Claire nodded briefly and looked back at Brian, who was watching the two of them silently. He cleared his throat. "Well, I'm going to, uh…" He glanced at the book in his hand and held it up. "I've got to finish this. I'm going upstairs."

"If you want, we can have lunch in a little while," said Claire. "I've got leftovers from the D.A.R.," she said rolling her eyes.

Brian smiled and nodded, waving goodbye with the hand holding his book.

When Brian was gone, Claire turned back to Bender and cleared her throat. "Well…"

Bender lifted an eyebrow. "Well," he echoed.

Claire glanced up at him briefly, then looked back at the kitchen counter, which was covered in platters of food. "Are you hungry?" she asked.

"No, we stopped for food earlier."

Claire looked up from the platter of lemon bars in her hand. "You and Allison?"

Bender nodded, and Claire looked away again, back at the tray of desserts. "Did she get what she needed?" she asked, her voice betraying nothing.

Bender remembered Allison walking out of the supermarket, hands empty and pockets bulging. "Yeah, I think so."

"That's good." She reached for a box of Saran Wrap from the edge of the counter and started pulling a thin piece of plastic over the top of the tray.

"Don't you have someone that does that for you?" Bender asked.

"Sandra?" Claire asked. "She's cleaning the sitting room."

"Hmmm," Bender murmured thoughtfully.

Claire moved the tray of lemon bars off to the side and reached for a bowl of creamy white dip. "So, how is your friend?"

"Which one?"

"The one you're staying with."

Bender nodded. "He's fine."

Claire looked up at him, and their eyes met. "And how are you?" she asked.

Bender just stared back at her, hoping his eyes weren't giving anything away. "Fine," he said, trying to keep his voice steady.

Claire held his gaze for a few seconds longer, then looked back at the dip. "Where are you living now?"

"Chicago."

She nodded. "Do you have your own apartment?"

"Yeah," he said, not bothering to tell her how small it was, or what it smelled like.

Claire nodded again, and Bender wondered if she was going to ask him what he'd been doing for the last three years. He wondered what he was going to say if she did ask, if he would lie or not. No, of course he wouldn't lie. He wasn't ashamed of himself.

But it didn't matter anyway because she didn't ask. She busied herself with the plates of food in front of her, wrapping them up and putting them into the already overloaded fridge. Bender watched her work, and for about five minutes neither one of them spoke.

When she'd finished putting all of the food away, Claire walked over to the counter beside him and pulled a glass down from the cabinet next to his head. "Do you want something to drink?" she asked.

He shook his head. "No."

She stepped closer to the sink and filled her glass halfway, then leaned back against the counter and looked up at him. "So, did you and Brian catch up?"

Bender shrugged. "I guess."

"Have you seen Andy today?"

Bender shook his head. "Brian said he was asleep."

"Oh." Claire looked down at her drink and brought the glass up to her lips to take a sip of water. Bender watched her closely, noticing all of the ways she'd changed and even more of the ways that she'd stayed the same. Her hair was long and straight, pulled back from her face with a clip. Her lacey top was cut just low enough that he could see the swell of her breasts just below the edge of the fabric. He let his eyes skim the rest of her body quickly, taking in the curves, one by one, stopping when he reached the hem of her skirt. Finally, he let his gaze drop down to the floor, staring at the patterns in the marble, at the swirls of pale grey on milky white.

He really needed that cigarette.

"So, when will you go back to Chicago?"

Bender looked back up to see her watching him. He shrugged. "When's the funeral?" he asked.

Claire's expression flickered. "Tomorrow."

"Probably tomorrow then."

Claire blinked, then looked down at her drink. She swallowed a sip of water, and for a moment Bender couldn't tear his eyes away from her throat. The skin there looked so soft, like satin.

When he looked back at her face, she was watching him again. Bender noticed for the first time how tired her eyes looked, how they were rimmed in red. She'd been crying recently, he noted. Crying for her dead mother.

"I have to go," he said, more harshly than he'd intended. He noticed that her face fell slightly when he spoke. Part of him felt bad if he'd hurt her, but the other part was glad.

"Okay," she said quietly.

He looked away from her, busying himself with the zipper of his jacket, trying to decide who he was more angry with, Claire or himself. "Where's the funeral place?" he asked gruffly.

Pause. "Woodlake Funeral home. On Woodlake Boulevard."

He nodded curtly. "I'll be there." He started walking towards the front door, and she followed him. He could hear her shoes snapping against the floor, echoing loudly behind him. When he reached the door, he jerked it open and stepped outside, refusing to look behind him. He dug the keys out of his jacket pocket and started walking out to the car.

"John."

He swallowed deeply and turned around. Claire was standing out on the front porch at the top of the stairs, one hand resting on the railing next to her hip. A light breeze whipped past him and blew her hair away from the nape of her neck. "Yeah?" he asked.

Claire opened her mouth to say something, but the expression on his face must have stopped her. She pursed her lips together and swallowed. "I'll see you later," she said finally.

He nodded, then turned and walked out to his car. He didn't look back at her as he got in and turned the ignition. He didn't even look when he drove past her. But when he reached the end of the driveway, he let his eyes flicker up to the rearview mirror. She was still standing in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest, watching him.

Bender dragged his eyes away from the mirror and pulled out onto the street.

* * *

A/N: Please review! Thanks. 


	17. Is That What You're Wearing?

A/N: Just to let you know, this chapter involves Claire seeing her mother's body just before the viewing. I don't think it's a particularly disturbing scene, but there is an inherent creepiness factor involved, so if you don't want to read it, then feel free to skip over it. Also, I don't know exactly how viewings work in other countries or with other religions, but most Protestant American viewings take place the day before a funeral (similar to the Catholic wake, I believe). People come to the funeral home to view the body and pay respects, but mainly they come to comfort the family. A lot of people come to the viewing to see the family if they know they won't be able to make it to the funeral itself. On the surface, it looks a lot like a social event actually, with people mingling around and talking. Except that there's a body in the room. Right. Anyway, some people choose to keep the casket open, and some choose to keep it closed. In Claire's mother's case, they have chosen to keep it closed for the viewing and for the funeral itself. If you have any other questions about how this works, let me know. I don't want to confuse anyone, but I'm trying to keep it as realistic as possible, based on my own experiences with funerals and such.

And, yay, there's a section for everyone in this chapter. I hope you enjoy it.

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Chapter Seventeen: Is _That_ What You're Wearing?

* * *

By three thirty, Andy was dressed and ready to leave for the viewing. Claire had asked them to be ready by four o'clock so that they could make it to the funeral home in time to finish setting up before everyone else arrived. That gave Andy thirty minutes to make a few phone calls before he had to meet the others downstairs.

David, his co-worker at the Giant Eagle, was the first on his list. He confirmed that he had gotten all of Andy's shifts covered through Thursday and that Andy wouldn't have to report in for work again until Friday afternoon. After hanging up with David, Andy dialed his own number back in Columbus.

Paul answered on the third ring. "Hello?"

"Hey, it's me. Andy."

"Oh, hey, what's up, man? You get there okay?"

"Yeah, I made it. Long drive, though."

"I can imagine. How's everything goin'?"

Andy looked around him, at the messy bed and the unpacked duffel bag next to the wall. "It's fine," he said tiredly.

"Yeah? How's your friend doin'? She holdin' up alright?"

For a moment, Andy thought that Paul was talking about Allison, and he wrinkled his brow in confusion. Then he straightened up and sighed, realizing that Paul was asking about Claire. "Fine, I guess."

"I'm sure she's glad you guys are there."

Andy hesitated. "Yeah, probably," he said flatly. He felt a twinge of guilt when he realized that the words probably weren't true, and his fingers curled even tighter around the phone. "Have my parents called?" he asked.

"Yours? No, why?"

Andy sighed. "Nothing, I just…I have to call them."

"They don't know you're there?"

"No." Before Paul could say anything else, Andy hurried on. "I just haven't had time to call them, but I'm about to."

"Oh."

"Hey, I've got to go. I'll talk to you later."

"Yeah, sure. Hope your friend is okay."

"Yeah, thanks. Bye."

"Bye."

Andy hung up the phone and released a shallow breath. He stared at the phone for a long time, drawing up the energy he knew he'd need to make his next call.

He talked to his parents a couple of times a week. His mother was usually the one to initiate the calls, his father only doing so if he had something specific that he needed to say or ask. Andy didn't speak with either of them for very long, just fifteen or twenty minutes a call, long enough fill them in on how his classes and practices were going and get tidbits of information on how his relatives were doing in other parts of the country. The last time he'd talked to his mother about four days previous, she'd called to tell him that his cousin Samantha was pregnant again.

Andy sighed and lifted the phone off of the cradle. He dialed his mother's work number and leaned back against the bedpost as he waited for her to pick up.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Mom." He took a deep breath. "It's Andy."

* * *

Allison peeled the headphones away from her ears and rolled over so that she could see the clock on the far wall. 3:30. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, then reached over and turned the volume on the CD player all the way up so that she could hear Janis Joplin's rugged voice, however faintly, from the other side of the room.

The first thing she did was take inventory of her clothing. She hadn't packed very much in the small duffel bag that she'd grabbed out of the bottom of her closet just thirty minutes before she left for the train station in New York. But she didn't need much either. Allison had always prided herself on the fact that she could get by on very little, partially because she felt that it gave her an advantage over the people around her, and partially because she felt that the less stuff she had, the easier it would be to leave. The second bit was a carry-over from her high school days, when she felt so stifled by her cold, silent house that running away seemed less like a fantasy and more like an inevitability.

Not for the first time that afternoon, Allison looked over at the phone on her nightstand. It was one of those old-fashioned phones with the long, thin handle and the rotary dial. She imagined her mother standing at the sink in the kitchen, gazing out the window over the manicured lawn and precisely-shaped hedges. She imagined her turning to pick up the phone, her lips pursing together when she heard the voice on the other line. "_It's me…I'm back."_

Allison scowled and turned back to the duffel bag at her feet. She'd packed three shirts, and only one of them was nice enough to wear to a funeral. She hadn't even considered the possibility of a viewing. Not that it really mattered; she could just wear the same shirt to both events.

As she reached into her bag to pull out the shirt, her fingers brushed against a small paper sack that had been stuffed into the bottom of the bag. Allison pulled it out and peeked inside. Inside was a lacy black top, a small bottle of perfume and a folded up piece of paper. Allison pulled out the note, which read, "Good luck! Love, Cecilia". She'd dotted her I's with tiny hearts and included a drawing of a tiny pair of lips just below her name.

Allison sighed angrily and pulled the perfume out of the bag. The bottle was half-empty, probably because it was Cecilia's favorite. Allison yanked up the lid and brought the bottle up to her nose. Immediately, she yanked it away again. It smelled spicy, like cinnamon and…other spices.

The shirt was even worse. It was solid black, with lace trim and a plunging neckline. It was also sleeveless, which was completely impractical for spring in Chicago. It was also completely impractical for spring in New York, but Allison had seen Cecilia wearing it all year round, despite the weather. Beauty before comfort, she always said.

_Screw beauty_, thought Allison, stuffing the shirt back into the sack. _I'm not going to freeze to death, Cecilia. Not even for him._

Allison paused, then let out a angry puff of breath. She was lying again. Because the truth was, where Andy Clark was concerned, Allison would be willing to sacrifice just about anything.

* * *

Brian checked his watch for about the eight hundredth time since he arrived downstairs. 4:02. He glanced over at the doorway leading into the kitchen, but didn't see Claire. She'd gotten hung up making last minute adjustments to the menu for Wednesday's reception, and Brian wondered if she realized what time it was. Or if Allison and Andy realized what time it was. He glanced into the kitchen once more, then stood from the couch and started upstairs.

Allison was already halfway down the staircase when he started climbing the steps. He stopped to let her pass, and she nodded in his direction, but didn't say hello.

"Have you seen Andy?" he asked.

She glanced up at him, startled. "No," she said quietly, shaking her head. Then she slipped past him and walked into the sitting room.

Brian sighed and continued his trek up to the second floor. When he reached Andy's door, he hesitated for a moment, remembering the reception he received from Andy earlier that morning, then knocked tentatively on the door.

Immediately, the door flew open. "I'm coming," Andy said shortly.

"Oh." Brian nodded. "Sure, I didn't mean…I mean, Claire's busy anyway, so it's not like…"

But Andy wasn't paying attention. "Is that what you're wearing?" he asked.

Brian glanced down at his button-down shirt and slacks, then up at Andy again. "Um, yeah."

"Shit," Andy muttered. He shook his head and tried to smooth out a wrinkle in his dark blue polo shirt. "I know I should have brought something else."

"I'm sure it's fine," Brian assured him. "I don't think it's going to be that fancy."

Andy shot him a look that said, _yeah, right_, and Brian blushed, realizing his mistake. Of course it would be fancy. It was Claire they were talking about.

Andy brushed a hand over his shirt again and sighed. "It doesn't matter. Let's just go."

Brian nodded, and the two of them started down the hall. When they reached the sitting room, they found Allison sitting on the couch, arms crossed over her chest as if to keep herself warm. She glanced up when they walked in, but didn't speak, just stared at them.

Before Brian could say anything, Claire walked in from the kitchen. "Sorry," she said, grabbing her purse from the coffee table. "Everyone ready?"

Brian hesitated. "What about your dad and--"

"They've already left. There wouldn't be room for all of us in my dad's car," she explained.

"Oh."

"But we'll fit in mine."

Brian nodded and followed her into the foyer. "Right."

"Actually, I need to drive separate," said Andy.

Claire stopped at the front door and turned to face him. "Oh, okay."

Andy sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I have something to do after the viewing."

Claire nodded. "Okay. You can just follow me then."

Andy nodded, and everyone walked outside, where Andy's Bronco was parked next to Claire's Buick. When they reached the vehicles, Brian hesitated. He glanced over at Andy, who was unlocking the driver's side door. "Can I ride with you?"

Andy looked up, frowning. After a moment's hesitation, he nodded. "Sure."

Brian waved at Claire, who nodded in his direction and unlocked the passenger side of her car for Allison. Andy popped open the locks on his truck, and Brian climbed in.

He waited until they were safely on the road before he spoke. "So, uh…why did you have to drive separately?"

Andy glanced over at him, then back at the road. "I have to have dinner with my parents tonight."

Brian nodded. "Oh, right."

Andy didn't offer any more information, and Brian thought it best not to press the issue by asking questions. He settled back into his seat, and the two of them finished their ride in silence.

When they pulled up to the funeral home, Brian could see Claire's car parked in one of the spaces up front. He climbed out of the truck and waited for Andy to lock the doors. When he'd finished, he jammed his keys into his pocket and looked up at Brian.

"You're going to your parents' house tonight, too, aren't you?"

Brian nodded quickly. "Yeah, right after the viewing."

Andy nodded. "Well, I can take you if you need a ride," he said gruffly.

Brian paused. "Yeah, okay," he said uncertainly. "That would be good."

Andy nodded shortly and started walking towards the entrance of the funeral home. Brian watched him for a minute, then ran to catch up.

* * *

When Claire stepped into the lobby of the funeral parlor, the first person she saw was her father, who was talking with Mr. Peterson, the funeral director. He waved briefly at his daughter and started following Mr. Peterson down the hallway leading to the director's office.

"He has to finish signing some paperwork."

Claire looked up to see her brother Daniel walking towards her carrying a large vase of flowers in one hand. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"Taking these into the room where the viewing is going to be held. There's more in the back." Daniel nodded at the card sticking out from the bouquet of roses. "These are from Greg and Marsha Jamison. You know them?"

Claire nodded. "That's dad's boss from work, and his wife." She craned her neck to see behind him. "There are more?"

Daniel nodded. "Dozens. Who knew we had so many friends?"

Claire resisted the urge to scoff or roll her eyes. "Where are you putting these?" she asked.

"In the room where they're having the viewing." He paused, watching her carefully. "They've got the casket set up in there," he said quietly.

Claire nodded, trying to appear nonchalant. "Where is that?"

"Here, I'll show you," he said.

Claire nodded and started to follow him, then remembered that she wasn't alone. She turned around to see Allison standing a few feet behind her, watching her closely. "Go ahead," she said quickly before Claire could say anything. "I have to go to the bathroom anyway."

Claire nodded gratefully and turned back to follow her brother down the hallway.

When they arrived at the room in question, Claire found that her brother was right about the flowers. There were dozens and dozens of flower arrangements fighting for space in the luxurious room. Baskets, bouquets, potted plants, wreaths, and easel sprays. Claire reached out and brushed her fingertips along the top of a vase full of white carnations, breathing in the scent of sympathy.

And then she saw the casket. She recognized it immediately as the one she'd picked out two days previous. The one with the antiqued handles and the walnut finish. Claire took a few steps forward until she was standing a few feet away, deliberately keeping her eyes on the spray of red roses at the foot of the casket. She stared at them for a long time until she couldn't stand it anymore and let her eyes travel up to her mother's face.

Claire hadn't seen her mother in almost three months, when she'd come back to Shermer for Christmas. She hadn't even seen her when she'd arrived at the hospital in Shermer just three short hours after her father's phone call. Still, she didn't think that it would be such a shock to see her mother that way, so stiff and heavily made-up. After a few seconds, Claire glanced away, unable to endure any more of it.

Behind her, Daniel cleared his throat. "I remember that dress," he said. "Dad said it was her favorite. I didn't remember that, but I remember her wearing it."

Claire nodded, but didn't turn back around for another look. "Yeah," she whispered. "She looked really--" Her voice broke then, and she looked down at the floor, trying to keep the dam from breaking.

Daniel came up beside her so that he could get a better look at the casket. The two of them stood in silence for a moment, with Daniel looking down at his mother's body and Claire staring down at the carpet, wiping away the tears. Finally, Claire took a deep breath and looked up again. Daniel glanced over at her, his eyes rimmed in red.

"Her lipstick looks horrible," said Claire, wiping her cheek. "Mom would never wear that shade."

Daniel released a tiny laugh, and Claire smiled, releasing a fresh wave of tears. Daniel took another step towards her and put his arm around her shoulders. She leaned into him, letting him support her weight. They stood like that for a long time, not saying anything, until the flower delivery guy arrived with another bouquet of white roses.

* * *

Bender spent the entire afternoon sprawled out on C.J.'s couch watching reruns of _Miami Vice _and _Hill Street Blues_. During commercials, C.J. wander into the kitchen for a bag of chips or another beer, but Bender got up only once, and that was just to use the bathroom.

At about four thirty, Bender hauled himself up off of the couch and started rifling through the duffel bag he'd stuffed under the coffee table, which was strewn with empty beer bottles and a half-full bag of stale potato chips. He pulled out a couple of t-shirts, glanced at them briefly, and stuffed them back into the bag.

C.J. glanced up from the television. "What are you doing?"

Bender let out an angry sigh. "Trying to find something to wear."

"To what?"

"The viewing."

"Viewing?"

Bender nodded briefly. "Yeah, it starts at five."

C.J. frowned. "What's wrong with what you're wearing?"

Bender glanced down at the front of his black t-shirt, which had the words "Sabbath Bloody Sabbath" written out in in red letters that looked like blood. "Yeah, I can see this going over real well with the rich old ladies," Bender said dryly.

C.J. smiled. "I don't know. That could be pretty funny."

"Yeah," said Bender. "Fucking hilarious."

"Since when do you care what they think anyway?"

Bender's eyes flickered in C.J.'s direction, then back towards the duffel bag.

"Oh, right," said C.J. "The 'ex-girlfriend, sort of'."

Bender released an angry breath. "Never mind," he said irritably.

"So, she's rich, huh? You never told me about that part."

"I didn't tell you anything," Bender retorted.

"Yeah, so what else is new?" C.J. stood from the ratty recliner and motioned towards Bender's bag. "What else do you got in there?"

Bender picked up the two shirts he'd discarded a moment before. "Just these." He sighed. "What the fuck are you supposed to wear to these kinds of things anyway?"

C.J. shrugged. "I don't know. Tuxedo?"

Bender glared at him. "It's not the prom, asshole. It's a viewing."

C.J. laughed. "You're so nice when you need someone's help." He took a step to the side so that he could get a better look at Bender's clothing. "Maybe you could just keep your jacket zipped up and no one will notice."

"And if I get hot?"

C.J. shrugged. "Tough it out." He paused. "I'd let you borrow something, dude, but you're bigger than me. It wouldn't fit."

Bender sighed and looked down at the pair of shirts in his hand. "No, I'll just wear one of these." He brought one of the shirts up to his nose and inhaled. "Smells like shit," he noted bitterly.

C.J.'s face lit up. "Hey, I've got some cologne."

Bender's nose wrinkled in disgust. "I don't wear cologne."

"I know, but it'll get rid of the smell," C.J. said as he disappeared into the bathroom.

"I don't _wear_ cologne," Bender said again as he peeled off the two shirts he was wearing. He tossed the Black Sabbath number into his duffel bag and put the other one back on, then pulled a solid black t-shirt on over it. It was faded and thread worn, but at least it was free of Satanic imagery.

"Found it," C.J. called out from the bathroom. "It's supposed to smell like 'Obsession' by Calvin Klein."

"Supposed to?"

C.J. reappeared from the bathroom holding a thin aluminum tube. "Yeah, it's one of those fake colognes. They're a lot cheaper, and the ladies don't seem to know the difference," he said, grinning widely.

Bender rolled his eyes. "That's because you go for the dumb ones."

C.J. didn't say anything, just stepped forward and sprayed Bender's shirt with the tube of cologne.

"What the fuck?" Bender shouted, nearly stumbling over his duffel bag. "Stop!"

C.J. grinned. "There, that's better."

Bender just shook his head and bent over to toss his duffel bag back under the coffee table. "Fucking prick," he muttered.

C.J. tossed the can of fake cologne onto the coffee table, where it landed onto the wooden surface with a loud _clank_ and rolled onto the floor below. "Don't be such a baby," he said to Bender. "You smell better already."

"Fuck you."

C.J. ignored the comment. "I saw Isaac today," he said.

Bender glanced over at him. "Oh, yeah?" He paused uncertainly. "So did I."

C.J. nodded. "That's what he said. When you get back tonight maybe we could go over to his place. I'm sure there will be a bunch of people over there."

Bender hesitated. "Yeah, maybe." He grabbed his leather jacket from the sofa and pulled it on over his t-shirts.

C.J. nodded and settled back into his recliner, digging around between the cushions in search of the remote. "Well, have fun at the viewing."

Bender rolled his eyes. "Yeah, thanks. I'm sure it'll be a blast."

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A/N: Thank you for all of the reviews. I really appreciate them. 


	18. You Slow It Down

A/N: Just a reminder from the last chapter. In my experience, viewings are fairly social events. People come to pay respects to the family, but the mood is a lot less somber than it is at a funeral. There's a lot of mingling and talking, a lot of catching up. So, no one is being disrespectful here. It's just how things go, I guess. Thank you to everyone who reviewed. I really appreciate it.

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Chapter Eighteen: You Slow It Down

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Bender looked out over the crowded room, filled with flowers and people, and scanned the room. All around him, people were talking quietly, clumped in groups of two or three, sometimes more. The casket on the other side of the room was going all but unnoticed as the visitors mingled, catching up on new stories from old friends.

Bender jammed his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket and felt a pack of cigarettes brush against the back of his right hand. It was too early for a cigarette break, even though he was bored out of his fucking mind and wondering why he'd agreed to come to this damn thing in the first place. Claire had greeted him when he'd arrived, but had almost immediately been swept back into the crowd to speak with relatives and more important guests. Guests that wore button-down shirts and pants that weren't frayed or ripped at the knee.

Andy was somewhere in the crowd, too. Apparently one of his old wrestling buddies lived right down the street from Claire, and his family had come to the viewing to pay respects. Bender noted that Andy didn't seem very excited about the reunion with his old friend, as he stood there in the middle of the floor, hands stuffed into the pockets of his khaki pants, hardly saying anything.

The others weren't faring any better. Brian was talking with Claire's aunt, who had him backed into a corner talking about Harvard, and Allison was floating around, smelling the flowers, avoiding any human contact.

After a few minutes, Brian managed to untangle himself from the conversation and walked over to where Bender was standing. He ran a hand over the top of his close-cropped hair and sighed. "Wow, Claire's aunt really…she sure does like to talk."

Bender smirked. "I think I saw her slip something into your pocket. The key to her room, perhaps?"

Brian's eyes widened and he jammed his hands into his jacket pockets, rummaging around. Then he stopped and looked up at Bender, irritated. "Very funny."

Bender shrugged. "She's not a bad looking woman."

Brian sighed and stepped back so that he was standing right beside Bender, looking out over the crowd. After a moment, Brian said, "Do you ever wonder why Claire asked us? I mean, out of all the other people she knows?"

"No," Bender said shortly.

Brian glanced over at him surprised. "No because you know why, or no because you don't care?"

Bender didn't answer.

Before Brian could say anything else, the two of them were joined by Allison, who slid up beside Bender without saying anything. The three of them stood like that for a long time, watching Andy and Claire engage in awkward conversations with people that they pretended were their friends.

"Looks like some things never change," Bender muttered.

* * *

"…and so I told him. I said, 'Tom, this is a business, not a day care center. I have better things to do with my time than sit around and make sure that you're doing your job.' That shut him up, I'll tell you what."

Mr. Standish laughed heartily. "I'm sure it did."

Mr. Jamison, Mr. Standish's boss, shook his head, still smiling. "I tell you, Calvin. Those kids comin' out of business schools these days don't know what they're in for. Makes you wonder what they're teaching 'em at the universities."

Mr. Standish smiled and turned to Claire, who was standing beside him, trying not to look bored. "Well, you can ask my daughter if you want. She's graduating this May with a Business degree from the University of Illinois in Champaign-Urbana."

Mr. Jamison looked over at Claire and nodded his appreciation. "Oh, really? Congratulations. If you're anything like your father, I'm sure you'll be very successful."

Claire forced a smile, something she'd become very good at over the last three days. "Thank you."

Mr. Jamison smiled and turned back to Claire's father. "So, has Ted told you the news about the merger? Looks like Connelly isn't budging on this one…"

Claire sighed and turned away from her father, scanning the room for a glimpse of one of the others. She spotted Andy talking with Matt Laird and his parents, who still lived down the street from her parents' house. She couldn't locate any of the others.

"Claire, darling, your friend is such a doll."

Claire glanced up to see her aunt Irene standing next to her. "My friend?" she echoed.

Irene nodded. "I was just talking to him. Sweet boy. Is he an old boyfriend of yours?"

Claire's heart sped up a notch. "John?"

Irene frowned. "No, Brian. Who's John?"

Claire shook her head. "No one. Just…" She released a little breath. "No one."

Irene shrugged dismissively. "Well, he's such a nice boy. Very smart, too. He graduates from Harvard in December, you know."

Claire smiled. "I know."

"Wants to get his doctorate. You should snatch him up, darling. He'll be worth millions someday. The smart ones always are."

Claire couldn't decide whether she was embarrassed or amused. "Brian and I aren't really…it's not like that," she finished lamely.

"Why not? He's adorable."

Claire laughed. It was true; Brian _was _adorable. "He's not really my type," she explained.

Irene waved her off, obviously not convinced. She glanced over to her left, where Claire's father was standing not two feet away, still talking with Mr. Jamison. "You're not talking about business again, are you, Calvin?" she said loudly, butting into the conversation.

Claire's father stopped mid-sentence and turned to face his sister-in-law. Claire saw the anger in her father's eyes, but he hid his irritation with a tight smile. "Irene," he greeted her, nodding politely.

Irene smiled blandly, her eyebrow lifted expectantly.

Mr. Standish released a tiny sigh and turned back to Mr. Jamison. "Greg, this is Irene, my wife's sister. Irene, this is Greg Jamison. He's the vice president of finance at my company."

Mr. Jamison held out his hand. "It's nice to meet you."

Irene shook his hand. "Likewise."

There was an awkward pause as the four of them stared back at one another, unsure of what to say next. In Claire's opinion, Irene seemed to be the only one that wasn't uncomfortable.

"Don't let me interrupt," Irene said finally.

Mr. Jamison shrugged. "We were just discussing some recent events at the office. I'm afraid it's not very interesting."

"But it must be," Irene countered, smiling sweetly. "Business seems to be all Calvin ever talks about…"

Mr. Jamison grinned at Claire's father. "Yeah, Calvin's a real go-getter."

"…even at his wife's viewing."

Claire swallowed deeply and glanced over at her father, who was watching Irene closely, his eyes clouded over with anger. "Irene…" he said pleasantly, warning her off.

Irene batted her eyes, feigning confusion. "Well, it's true, isn't it?"

Mr. Standish didn't respond, just kept the tight smile plastered onto his face. Mr. Jamison cleared his throat and glanced over his shoulder.

"Wow, I'm really thirsty," Claire said brightly. "Do you want to go with me and get a glass of water, Irene?"

Irene stared back at Claire's father for a moment before she nodded. "A glass of water would be nice," she agreed distractedly.

Claire nodded and waited for Irene to move away from the two men. When she did, Claire starting leading them out of the room. Before she could get too far, Irene reached out and grabbed hold of Claire's forearm. "There he is."

Claire glanced up to see Brian, John and Allison standing in front of a large display of lilies. Allison was standing beside John, arms crossed over her chest, while Brian talked a mile a minute, using his hands to illustrate his point. John was staring straight ahead, nodding along with something that Brian was saying.

And then he spotted her. She could pinpoint the exact moment when it happened because something in his gaze shifted from boredom to…something else. Claire swallowed deeply, unable to tear her eyes away.

"Such a nice-looking boy, isn't he?" Irene asked.

Claire nodded. "Yes…yes, he is."

* * *

"So, what is Ohio like? Do you miss Illinois?"

Andy shrugged. "They're pretty much the same to me."

Mrs. Laird smiled warmly. "My brother lived in Columbus for a couple of years. He really liked it."

Andy nodded politely, but didn't say anything else. He hadn't seen the Lairds since the summer after he graduated, and as soon as Mrs. Laird spotted him, she ran up and gave him a big hug. This made Andy a little bit uncomfortable, but not really. Mrs. Laird was one of the wrestling moms, the kind that brought bottles of Gatorade to all the matches and told all of the boys--even the heavy ones--that they needed to eat more. Her son Matt was a good friend of Andy's who'd graduated with a full scholarship to Illinois State tucked under his wrestling belt.

"He said the winters are pretty rough, but they're probably not even as bad as Illinois winters."

Andy nodded. "It gets cold down there, but it's not too bad."

Mrs. Laird turned to her son, who was standing beside her, and hit him lightly in the chest. "This one here never stops complaining about the weather. I think he needs to move to Florida or Texas or something."

Matt grinned. "I won't say no to the beaches of Florida. The sun, the waves, the girls…"

Mrs. Laird hit him in the chest again, a little harder this time. "Matt!"

"What?" Matt asked, feigning innocence.

Mrs. Laird rolled her eyes and turned back to Andy. "So, are you planning on staying there when you graduate?"

Andy hesitated. "I don't know yet…I mean, I haven't decided."

She nodded. "Do you think you might want to move back to Illinois?"

Andy shrugged. "Maybe. I don't know." He paused, trying to think of something better to say. "I was actually thinking about moving to one of the big cities, like New York," he lied.

Matt grinned. "I never had you pegged for a city boy."

Andy shrugged sheepishly.

"What kind of job are you looking for?" asked Mrs. Laird.

Andy shifted his weight from one foot to the other. _Here we go… _"I don't know," he said for what had to be the millionth time. "Maybe something in…investments." Another lie.

Mrs. Laird nodded enthusiastically. "That's what Matt's going to do. He's been talking to one of the investment firms in Chicago, and they really want to hire him when he graduates."

Andy nodded and glanced over at Matt. "That's great," he told him, trying to sound excited.

Matt bobbed his head in agreement. "I think it's going to be exactly what I'm looking for."

"What companies have you been looking at?" Mrs. Laird asked Andy.

Andy took a deep breath. "Oh, uh…lots of them. Some places in Columbus…Chicago…New York." He paused, trying to come up with something else to add. "Like I said, I'm not really sure what I want yet."

Mrs. Laird nodded understandingly. "You don't have to know just yet," she assured him. "You've still got a little over a month before you graduate."

Somehow, this brought Andy very little comfort. "Yeah," he said flatly.

"You know what you should do?" Mrs. Laird said suddenly. "You should call Matt's uncle. He lives in New York, and he's got a lot of connections. I'm sure he could put you in touch with some people that could help you find something."

Andy forced a smile. "That would be good."

"I think my husband has the number," she said, glancing over her shoulder for a glimpse of Mr. Laird, who was talking to another man a few feet away. "I'll make sure you get it before you leave."

Andy nodded. "Thanks."

"But with your resume, you should have no problems. You'll find a job in no time," she said, reaching out to pat his hand. "By the beginning of June, you'll be working for some big time firm in the city, I know it."

Andy swallowed, trying to ignore the way his stomach tightened at her suggestion. June was two months away. He tried to imagine himself showing up to work in a suit and tie, briefcase tucked under one arm, cup of coffee clutched in the other. He imagined himself getting caught up in the daily grind, fighting for clients, taking conference calls, staying late to finish up paperwork. He tried to imagine it, but didn't get very far. The very thought of starting a job like that made him tired.

"What about your parents?" Mrs. Laird asked, breaking into his thoughts. "What are they saying about all of this?"

The pressure in Andy's chest gained strength, and Andy started feeling a little claustrophobic. "Um…they're excited for me."

Mrs. Laird smiled kindly. "And proud, I'm sure."

Andy swallowed the lump in his throat. "Would you excuse me?" he asked. "I have to use the restroom."

Mrs. Laird nodded. "Of course."

Andy nodded politely and started walking toward the door, trying to keep from running. When he reached the hallway, he hung a right at the corner and headed down the hallway. He didn't stop until he reached a tiny sitting area across from the restrooms. He walked up to the wall of windows, which faced west into a small courtyard. He stood there for a long time, taking deep, jagged breaths, as the sun dipped past the horizon, making room for the coming night.

* * *

Allison hated funeral homes. She had ever since she was six years old and her grandmother passed away. Her mother had been in charge of the funeral plans, so she'd spent a lot of time at the funeral home, wandering around while her mother picked out flowers and caskets. Everything was fine until she ran across a room that was being set up for a viewing…and she saw her first dead body. Allison didn't think she'd ever screamed so loudly in her entire life.

Allison blew the hair out of her eyes and glanced over at John and Brian, who were talking about cars or something stupid like that. It seemed like Brian was carrying the conversation single-handedly while John just nodded along, staring out over the room.

Allison sighed and glanced over at the door leading out into the hallway. She could really use a sip of water, and she wondered if there was a water fountain anywhere in the building. With one final glance back at the boys, she slipped away, heading for the door.

Out in the hallway, Allison started looking for the restrooms. She remembered seeing them when she walked in, so she headed towards the front lobby, hoping to spot them. She turned the corner leading to a small sitting area just off of the main lobby and stopped short.

Andy was standing in front of a large window looking out over a courtyard, hands jammed into his pockets. He was standing perfectly still, taking steady breaths. His eyes were glazed over, and his mouth was hanging open slightly as if he couldn't quite muster up enough energy to keep it closed. He looked so tired.

She stood there for a moment, transfixed, before deciding that it would be best to leave and give him his privacy. But before she could move, Andy turned, and their eyes met.

Allison swallowed deeply, unsure of what to say. Andy just stared at her for a moment before he finally said, "Hey."

Allison's mouth hung open for a moment before she responded. "Hey."

Andy didn't turn away from her, so she stepped forward until she was standing a couple of feet away. He didn't move.

"A lot of people," she observed.

Andy paused, then nodded. "Yeah," he said quietly.

Allison wanted to say more, but the words felt stuck in her throat. So, she looked away, facing the window, where she could see that the sun had dipped just below the top of the roof on the other side of the courtyard. She was aware of Andy's eyes on her, of how close he was standing and what he smelled like. Finally, he looked away, back out over the courtyard, and Allison remembered to breathe again.

They stood there for a long time, neither of them speaking, watching the sun disappear over the rooftops.

* * *

A/N: If you're interested, the Breakfast Club fandom has forums set up. You can discuss favorite scenes and characters, get help for fan fiction stories you want to write, or play games. You can reach the forums by going back to the main TBC screen and clicking on the 'Forums' button at the top right-hand corner of the screen.

…after you review, of course. : ) Thank you.


	19. That Was Then, This Is Now

A/N: I stole this chapter title from the title of the book by S.E. Hinton.

I got this chapter finished pretty quickly, so I decided to go ahead and post it. Thank you to everyone who is still reading this story (and to those of you who have just started reading). I appreciate all of the reviews. Enjoy this chapter!

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Chapter Nineteen: That Was Then, This Is Now

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The last guest pulled out of the parking lot at approximately 7:15 on Tuesday evening, and in Claire's opinion, it couldn't have happened a moment too soon. She'd spent the entire evening mingling with people she either didn't know, hardly remembered, or didn't like. There were a handful of people that she was happy to see, but for the most part, she was just glad that it was over.

After glancing quickly at the guestbook, Claire went out to the lobby, where she found Mr. Peterson, the funeral director, waiting for her. "How did everything go?" he asked pleasantly.

She forced a smile. "Fine."

Mr. Peterson nodded. "I'm glad. We're going to start clearing that room out for you. We're putting all of the flowers in the chapel for the service tomorrow, so they'll be set up when you arrive."

Claire nodded. "Thank you. I appreciate that."

Mr. Peterson smiled. "It's what we're here for. Have a good night, Miss Standish."

"You, too, Mr. Peterson."

The older man offered her a respectful nod before he slipped off down the hall to his office.

Claire walked outside to the parking lot, where the three boys were gathered, waiting for her. She spotted her father's car turning out of the parking lot, and she knew that she was the last one in her family to leave.

"Where's Allison?" she asked.

"She had to use the restroom," Brian told her.

"Are you two leaving now?" she asked, glancing over at Andy.

Andy nodded.

"Well, I'll stick a key under the mat for you. Whoever gets back last can leave it on the table in the foyer."

Brian nodded. "Okay, sounds good."

Andy started fumbling around in his pocket for his keys, and Brian offered her a sheepish smile. "See you guys later."

Claire watched the two of them walk out to Andy's truck, which was one of only a handful of cars that were left in the parking lot. After a couple of minutes, the truck rumbled to life.

Claire watched until Andy's taillights disappeared around the corner. She turned to John, who was standing a few feet away, looking out over the parking lot.

"Do you want to come back to the house for dinner?" she asked him. "We've got more food than we'll ever be able to eat."

John shook his head. "I'd better get back."

Claire nodded, biting back her disappointment. "Sure."

John looked at her for a moment, not saying anything. Then he asked, "When is the funeral?"

Claire felt her stomach tighten apprehensively at the mention of the word. "Ten o'clock," she answered.

"Is it gonna be here?"

"Yes, in the chapel."

John nodded and reached down to zip up his leather jacket. "Okay."

Claire just stood there for a moment, watching him fiddle with the zipper. He was just like she remembered, only better because he was standing right in front of her, so close that she could reach out and touch him if she wanted to. Suddenly, Claire felt a rush of affection for him, and she stepped forward, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Thank you for coming," she murmured into his shoulder.

John didn't move, just stood there as she hugged him. Then, just as she was about to pull away, she felt his arm come up around her side, brushing against the curve of her waist. He didn't touch her, just grabbed onto the hem of her pink silk shirt and curled his fingers into a fist around the delicate fabric.

Claire closed her eyes as a wave of emotion swept over her, rough and unexpected. It was all she could do not to lean forward and kiss John's neck, right above his collarbone, the same spot where she would kiss him back in high school just to hear his breathing grow ragged.

A few seconds later, John let go of her shirt and let his hand fall back against his side. Reluctantly, Claire untangled her arms from around his neck and stepped back.

Immediately, John started digging around in his jacket pocket, looking for a cigarette. He pulled the pack out and busied himself with pulling one of the sticks out of the flimsy container. Claire waited.

Finally, he looked back up at her, his expression sufficiently unreadable. "See you tomorrow," he said gruffly.

Claire nodded, but John didn't notice. He was already halfway out to his car, fumbling with his lighter. She watched him slide into the driver's seat of the car and start the engine. When his car disappeared around the corner, she didn't look away. She stood there, arms crossed over her chest, breathing in the smell of cigarette smoke clinging stubbornly to the cold night air, until Allison came outside and asked if she was ready to go.

* * *

Brian glanced over at Andy, who hadn't spoken since they'd pulled out of the parking lot a couple of minutes previous. He was frowning slightly, his brow furrowed as though he were deep in thought.

"Do you, uh…do you remember where I live?" Brian asked tentatively, hoping that Andy wouldn't be angry that he'd broken into his thoughts.

Andy glanced over at him, still frowning. Then he blinked and looked back at the road. "Yeah, of course," he replied.

For some reason, this comforted Brian more than it should have. Back in high school, he and Andy had hung out together a lot during the months between detention and the fall semester when Andy left for college in Ohio. Despite their differences, Brian found that he and Andy actually had a lot in common and that they got along very well. Out of everyone in the Breakfast Club, Brian looked up to Andy the most. He still remembered the night Andy used his fake I.D. to buy them a case of beer from the 7-11 down the street from his house. They took the beer out to the baseball field right behind the school and proceeded to drink the entire thing. Both of them were messy drunks, and pretty much all they did was take turns laughing and telling one another stupid jokes. Brian had never been drunk before, but Andy had, and Brian especially valued Andy's expertise the following morning when he woke up with the worst headache of his life and a _lot_ of explaining to do when his mother wanted to know why the sweater she'd given him for Christmas smelled like Budweiser.

"It's the blue one, right?"

Brian glanced up to see that they were on his old street. "Uh, yeah. The blue one."

Andy pulled up to the curb just in front of the house and put the truck in 'Park'. "Is your dad going to drive you back?" he asked.

Brian nodded. "Yeah, that's fine. I'm sure he won't mind."

Andy nodded stiffly. "Well…have a good time."

Brian offered him a hesitant smile. "You, too."

Andy tried to smile, but Brian could tell that he didn't mean it. "Thanks."

Brian hesitated, trying to think of something else to say, but he couldn't come up with anything. Finally, he pushed open the passenger's side door and climbed out of the truck.

His mother pulled the door open before he'd even reached the first step. She kept one hand wrapped around the doorknob, but the other automatically found the curve of her hip. "I thought you were going to call first," she said disapprovingly.

"Oh," Brian stammered. "I'm sorry. I forgot. The viewing didn't end until after seven and--"

"Never mind," she interrupted, pulling the door open a bit wider. He stepped into the house and gave his mother a hug.

"Dinner's almost ready," she said, pulling away. "You should go wash up."

Brian sighed. "Yes, ma'am."

As he watched his mother walk down the hall towards the kitchen, Brian couldn't help but wonder if maybe this was a bad omen.

* * *

When Claire and Allison arrived back at the house, Claire saw her father's Mercedes parked in the driveway, which told her that he, Irene and Daniel had beaten her home. Claire pulled up behind her father's car and cut the engine.

When they were inside, Claire hung her jacket on the coat rack next to the front door and turned to Allison. "Are you hungry?"

Allison shrugged. "Kind of."

"We can eat in a few minutes," Claire told her. "I'll go warm something up."

Allison nodded and started walking upstairs.

On her way to the kitchen, Claire found her brother Daniel in the dining room, scarfing down chocolate chip cookies from a platter sitting on the table in front of him. When she walked in, he looked up and nodded, his mouth too full to say anything.

"You know those are Dad's favorites," she warned him, taking her seat next to him.

Daniel nodded and washed the mouthful down with a sip of milk. "There are three plates of them in there. Mrs. Gibbons dropped them off earlier."

Claire sighed. "All of this food is going to go bad before we even have a chance to eat it."

"I'm doing my best to remedy that," Daniel said, flashing her a boyish grin as he picked up another cookie from the plate.

Claire rolled her eyes. "Thanks," she said sarcastically.

Daniel shrugged and took another bite.

"So, are you eating dinner with us?" she asked him.

Daniel shook his head and swallowed. "Not tonight. You remember Chris Frasier?"

Claire nodded. Chris was Daniel's best friend from high school. "Of course."

Daniel nodded. "I'm going over to his house for dinner. I hardly make it out here, and I haven't seen him since his wedding, which was nearly two years ago. He's even got a _kid_ now." Daniel shook his head as if he couldn't believe it.

Claire laughed. "Starting to feel old?"

Daniel laughed. "No, but thanks for bringing it up."

Claire grinned. "Come on. Don't you have any girlfriends up in Seattle?"

Daniel smiled, but she could see that he looked a bit uncomfortable. She remembered that her mother had told her about a girl that he'd started seeing, but that was months ago, and Claire hadn't heard anything since. She wondered if they had broken up or if Daniel just didn't want to talk about it with her. For all of their teasing and affection, the two of them didn't talk very much about their personal lives with one another. She knew that this had a lot to do with the gap in their ages, and maybe also with the way their family communicated in general.

Claire leaned back in her chair. "Dad and Irene are at each other's throats again," she informed him.

Daniel nodded. "I know. I drove with them to the funeral home and back."

Claire sighed. "One of them is going to be dead before the week's over."

"My bet's on Dad. Have you seen Irene's nails?" Daniel asked, holding up his own hand for emphasis.

Claire glared at him. "This isn't funny," she told him seriously.

Daniel nodded and took another sip of milk. "I know, I'm sorry." He paused. "But you've got to admit, it would be kind of fun to watch."

Claire rolled her eyes. "Where are they, anyway?"

"In the kitchen."

Claire's eyes widened. "_Together_?"

Daniel nodded. "Last time I checked. Of course, Irene may have killed him and stuffed him down the garbage disposal by now."

Claire just stared at him. "Daniel! How could you leave them alone together?"

Daniel laughed. "Claire, relax. They're grown adults. I think they can stand in the same room together without having someone there to babysit them."

Claire definitely didn't agree. "I should go in there."

Daniel put up a hand to stop her, his mouth too full of chocolate chip cookie to do it verbally. Finally, he swallowed the last bit of the cookie and looked up at her. "Just leave them alone. They'll be fine," he assured her.

"How can you be so sure?"

"They've managed to do it for thirty years without your help," he told her.

"Yeah, but that's because--" Then she stopped short, unable to go on.

"Because why?" he prodded, obviously not realizing what she was about to say.

_Because Mom was here_, she thought. Their mother was the only reason that Irene and their father had managed to act civilly towards one another over the years. In fact, Claire's mother once told her that she'd had to break up a fight between them at her own wedding. And not only had she acted as mediator, but she'd also acted as motivation. Claire knew that her mother wished that her husband and her sister would get along, and she knew that both of them did their best to respect those wishes.

But Catherine Standish wasn't there anymore. Claire was.

"I think I need to go in there," Claire said again, glancing down the hallway separating the two rooms.

Daniel picked up the platter of cookies and held it out in front of her. "Have a cookie," he told her.

Claire paused, and Daniel waggled the plate enticingly. Finally, she sighed and, against her better judgment, picked one up from the plate. "Just one," she promised.

"You can't eat just one," Daniel challenged her. "It's impossible."

Claire rolled her eyes and took a bite. They _were_ delicious. She settled back in her seat and looked up at her older brother. "Have you talked to Dad much since you got back?" she asked him.

Daniel shrugged. "A little."

Claire watched him closely, looking for clues that would help her decipher what he really meant by that. "He hasn't been around much," she observed.

Daniel nodded. "That's true."

Claire let out a shallow, frustrated breath. "Doesn't that make you mad?" she asked, knowing how childish it sounded and not caring one bit.

Daniel shifted uncomfortably in his chair and put down the cookie he was holding. "You know Dad works a lot," he said evenly.

"Mom died three days ago!" she exclaimed.

Daniel swallowed deeply and looked down at the table.

Claire wiped her eyes with her fingertips, brushing away the angry tears. She knew that she was breaking a unspoken cardinal rule in her family by bringing up an issue that Daniel had apparently decided was best left buried, but she was too far gone to stop. "He could take a week off from work to be with us. It wouldn't be the end of the world."

Daniel took a deep breath. "He needs to be at the office. It helps him to have something to focus on. If he was here all the time, he'd go crazy."

"Crazy?" Claire echoed. "Spending time with us would drive him crazy?"

Daniel sighed. "That's not what I meant."

Claire shook her head. "You never come home. Doesn't it upset you that he spends all of his free time in the office instead of with you?"

Daniel shook his head. "We all have different ways that we grieve. This is Dad's way."

"What about _our_ way?" she asked him.

Daniel apparently didn't have an answer for that because he didn't even open his mouth to speak. Claire leaned back in her seat a little, knowing that she'd crossed an invisible line. She and Daniel _never_ fought, partially because he hated confrontation, partially because she adored him, and partially because there was never anything to fight _about_. Until now.

Claire watched him for a couple of minutes, waiting for him to say something, but he never did. It scared her to think that the only person in the house that she could really depend on was angry with her, and she hoped that it wasn't true.

"I'm sorry," she said finally. "I just…"

Daniel nodded. "It's okay," he said casually.

But Claire could still feel the tension in the air, and she knew that she'd just made a mistake. "When do you have to be at Chris's house?" she asked, hoping to change the subject.

"Eight o'clock." He glanced down at his watch. "I should probably go."

"You're not going to be hungry after eating all of those cookies," she chided, forcing a playful tone.

Daniel smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I think I'll be okay."

Claire nodded. "I'm sure you will," she agreed.

Daniel stood up and offered her the plate of cookies. "You want another one?"

Claire shook her head. "No, thanks."

Daniel pushed his chair in behind him. "Well, I'll see you later. Probably tomorrow morning."

Claire nodded. "Yeah, sure. Tell Chris I said hi."

Daniel nodded. "I will. Have a good night."

"Goodnight," Claire echoed, watching him leave. She waited for him to turn around and come back in the room to give her a hug or tell her that things would be okay, but he didn't. Claire sat there, staring at the table top littered with cookie crumbs, and wondered how everything got so screwed up.

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A/N: Please review. Thanks! 


	20. Sibling Rivalry

A/N: Enjoy this chapter!

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**Chapter Twenty: Sibling Rivalry**

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When Brian walked into the living room, he found his little sisters sitting in front of the television, watching old episodes of _I Love Lucy_. Elizabeth was sitting on the couch, her bare feet tucked up under her, while Gracie sat on the floor below, braiding her own long, dark blonde hair. Neither of them noticed Brian until he walked in and sat down next to Elizabeth on the couch. 

"Brian!" Elizabeth launched herself on top of him, throwing her arms around his neck. He laughed and wrapped his arms around her, trying to keep her from falling off of the couch. A few seconds later, he felt another pair of arms on his shoulders, and the couch sank a little lower.

"Are you staying for a long time?"

"I bought you something for your birthday. I spent my own money and everything."

"Uh…" Brian laughed and tried to sit up straight on the couch. "I'll be here for a couple of days," he told Elizabeth.

"Why aren't you staying here?" she asked plaintively.

"Because I'm staying with a friend," he explained. Her face fell a little, and for the first time since he'd returned, he thought that maybe he was being a bit selfish by not spending more time at his parents' house.

"Brian," Gracie said urgently, tugging on his sleeve. "You have to see what I bought you."

"You didn't have to buy me anything," he told her.

"It's your birthday," she said, pushing him playfully. "Why didn't you come home to have a party?"

"Because I was at school."

"Yeah, duh," said Elizabeth, who made a big show of rolling her eyes. Elizabeth was the older of the two, even though she was only two years older than Gracie, who was ten. Brian thought that Elizabeth had grown bossier and more serious since he'd left for college, though he wasn't entirely sure why. Gracie, on the other hand, still acted like the baby.

"Come on," said Gracie, tugging on his arm to lift him from the couch. "I want you to open my present."

"He's not going to open it right now," Elizabeth told her. "We're about to eat dinner."

Gracie looked to Brian for confirmation, and he offered her an apologetic smile. "Right after dinner," he promised.

Gracie sighed and climbed into his lap, leaning her head against his shoulder. Her blonde hair tickled his neck, and her foot dug roughly into his knee. She was heavier than he remembered.

"What's going on in here?"

Brian looked up to see his father standing a few feet away, hands on his hips. "Are these girls bothering you?" he asked his son seriously.

Brian tried to keep a straight face. "Yeah, they're being really annoying," he said.

"Well, in that case…" Mr. Johnson rushed forward, grabbing Elizabeth by the waist and hauling her into the air. She shrieked and hit him on the shoulder.

"Daddy! Put me down!"

Mr. Johnson ignored her and looked over at Gracie, who pressed her face against Brian's chest and let out a high-pitched giggle. "No!" she screamed.

Her father tossed Elizabeth over his shoulder. "You must be punished!" he roared. Elizabeth screamed and flailed around as he started tickling her.

Brian looked over at Gracie to see that she was watching him expectantly, half excited, half afraid. He made a face at her and started tickling her under her knee, where he knew she was the most vulnerable. She exploded into giggles and tried to push him away.

"Brian, stop!" she cried. "Mommy, tell him to stop!"

Brian glanced up to see his mother standing in the doorway, smiling slightly as she watched her children, her expression more tender than Brian had remembered it ever being. When she realized that Brian was watching her, the smile disappeared, and she straightened up, squaring her shoulders.

"Dinner's ready."

* * *

Andy pulled into the driveway at his parents' house and cut the engine. He didn't get out of the vehicle right away, just sat there and stared at the house for a couple minutes, fogging up the window with his warm, steady breaths. He remembered sitting in the parking lot at the train station when he went to pick up Brian, trying to gather enough energy to get out and face the world. This felt similar, but not quite. Given the choice, he would much rather be back at the train station with Brian instead of at his parents' house. Because when Brian started asking too many questions, all he had to do was threaten to beat him up. He couldn't do the same with his father, even if he was sometimes tempted.

Finally, Andy pushed open the door to the Bronco and climbed out. He slipped his keys into his pocket and crossed the front lawn. Just as he stepped onto the porch, the front door swung open.

"Hi." His mother stepped forward and pulled him into a hug, which was easy since they were the same height. "It's good to see you."

Andy nodded. He could smell the cigarette smoke in her hair and on her clothes. Virginia Slims, two packs a day for more than twenty years. His father hated it.

Finally, Mrs. Clark released him from her grip and stepped back to look at him. "You need a hair cut," she told him, reaching up to brush a lock of hair away from his forehead. Andy bristled at the touch, but forced himself not to pull away.

"I haven't had time," he told her.

She let her hands fall to his shoulders and continued her evaluation. "And you've lost weight. Are you eating right?"

Once again, Andy had to fight the urge to step away from her. "Yes."

Mrs. Clark sighed and released him from her grip. "Well, you look too thin." Before he could respond, she turned and walked back into the house, opening the door wider so that he could walk in. "Come in. It's cold outside."

Andy stepped into the house, and his mother closed the door behind him. "Your father ran down to the grocery store to pick up a few things. He'll be back in a few minutes."

Andy nodded and followed her into the kitchen, where he could smell something burning. This didn't come as a total shock. His mother was, despite appearances, the anti-housewife. She hated cleaning and gardening, and everything she touched in the kitchen ended up either burnt, soggy, melted, or lumpy. In a house full of heavy eaters, this didn't go over very well, which was why every member of the Clark family had the phone number to Pizza Hut memorized.

"So, tell me about this friend of yours again. What's her name?"

Andy leaned back against the counter and unbuttoned his letter jacket. "Claire."

"That's right." Mrs. Clark went over to the stove to check the chicken, which was probably what was burning. "So, her mother died?"

Andy nodded. "Yeah."

His mother made a sympathetic sound and picked up her spatula. "That's such a shame. Was she young?"

Andy shifted uncomfortably. "I don't know."

Mrs. Clark let out another cluck of sympathy and started poking at the chicken breasts. "That's such a shame," she said again.

Andy paused. "Yeah."

Mrs. Clark prodded the chicken again, then sighed and put the spatula back on the counter. She reached into the pocket of her skirt and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Within seconds, the kitchen was filled with the smell of nicotine and burnt chicken.

"How is school going?"

Immediately, Andy's stomach tightened up. He'd known the questions were coming, but he didn't know they'd come so quickly. "Fine," he answered.

His mother took a drag on the cigarette and released a puff of smoke into the air. "Are you enjoying them?"

Andy shrugged, hoping he appeared nonchalant. "Sure," he lied.

"Tell me again what classes you're taking."

Andy sighed. His mother was terribly forgetful, and he was constantly having to remind her of what classes he was taking, when he worked and when he had meets, and sometimes even what his friends' names were. "Mostly business classes," he told her.

Mrs. Clark nodded. "That's right. So, they're going well?"

Andy nodded. "Yep," he answered, trying to keep his voice light. He wasn't sure if it worked or not.

"Good." His mother reached over to flick the ash from her cigarette into the cigarette tray sitting on the counter, then took another drag. She was smoking quickly, he could tell, so that she could finish before his dad came home.

Suddenly, a burst of noise came in from the living room, and someone yelled, "Goddamn it!"

Andy froze, but Mrs. Clark just sighed. "He's watching the baseball game," she explained.

Andy nodded, but didn't say anything. His mother pulled the cigarette tray closer and tapped her cigarette against the side. "You can go watch it with him. Dinner won't be ready for a few more minutes."

Andy nodded stiffly. "Yeah, okay." He stuffed his hands into his pockets and stepped away from the counter. His mother picked up the spatula again and started stabbing at the chicken again. Andy watched her for a few seconds, then walked out into the living room.

His older brother Shawn was sitting on the couch in front of the television, can of Coke in one hand. His eyes were glued to the screen in front of him. "Come on, Dawson," he muttered. "Earn your fucking paycheck."

Andy stood behind the couch in silence, watching the screen. The batter for the Cubs, Andre Dawson, had the count tied up at 2-2. He fouled it off of the tip of his bat once, then sent another one into the bleachers for another foul. Finally, he ripped one out into right field, where the right fielder caught it easily for another out.

"Goddamn it," Shawn muttered loudly. "Two million dollars for a fucking pop up." Then, without looking behind him, he said, "You gonna stand there all day with your thumb up your ass, or are you gonna to sit down?"

Andy rolled his eyes and walked around the edge of the sofa. He sat down next to his brother, who still hadn't peeled his eyes away from the screen. "Hello to you, too," he said sarcastically.

Shawn ignored the comment and kept his eyes on the screen. "Come on, Sandburg. Somebody's gotta get a hit."

On the first hit, the batter, Ryne Sandburg, hit a slow-rolling grounder straight to the first baseman, ending the inning.

"Overpaid fuckers," Shawn muttered. He glanced over at his younger brother, giving him the once over. "God, you look like _shit_."

Andy rolled his eyes. "Gee, thanks."

"You have a few too many last night? You look hungover."

Andy frowned. "I'm not _hungover_, you asshole."

Shawn lifted an eyebrow doubtfully. "You _should _be. Isn't the season over?"

Andy nodded. "Yeah."

Shawn took another sip of his Coke and wiped his arm with the sleeve of his shirt, a blue polo with a Wal-Mart logo on the right chest pocket.

"How's work?" Andy asked hesitantly.

Shawn let out a bitter laugh. "Fan-fucking-tastic. How's school?"

Andy clenched his jaw and glanced back at the screen. Neither of them tried to restart the conversation.

Almost halfway into the next inning, the front door opened. Andy couldn't see into the foyer, but he could only assume that his father was home. His stomach tightened up, and he took a deep breath to relax himself. Mr. Clark walked into the kitchen, and Andy could hear him set the grocery bags on the counter.

"Do I smell cigarette smoke?" he asked his wife.

"Fuck!" Shawn exclaimed, drowning out their mother's response. "Why the hell are we even paying these guys? _I_ could pitch better than this."

Andy nodded distractedly, still listening for his parents' voices. He could hear them talking in the kitchen, but he couldn't tell what the conversation was about. Something about the store being out of vanilla ice cream. A few minutes later, he heard his father's work boots echoing on the kitchen floor, growing louder as he approached the living room.

"Hey, Sport. You just get in?"

Andy looked up to see his father walk into the living room. "Uh, yeah. Just a few minutes ago."

Mr. Clark nodded and looked up at the screen. "Are we down already? What inning is it?"

Andy waited for Shawn to answer for him, but Shawn was still staring at the television screen and wasn't paying any attention to their conversation. "Third," Andy told his father.

Mr. Clark frowned. "Moyer needs to start pulling his weight. Sutcliffe can't pitch every night."

Andy nodded, and the three of them lapsed into silence. The Cubs managed not to give up anymore runs, and the first half of the inning passed relatively uneventfully. Just as the Cubs came up to bat again at the bottom of the third inning, Mrs. Clark appeared in the doorway.

"Dinner's ready," she told them.

Mr. Clark sighed and stepped back from the couch. "Yeah, I'm coming." He followed his wife back into the kitchen.

Andy stood from the couch and looked over at his brother, who was still watching the game. "You coming?"

Shawn nodded and set his Coke can on the coffee table. He scooted forward so that he was sitting on the very edge of the couch, then reached for his wheelchair and pulled it closer. Andy watched him grip the arms of the chair tightly and lift himself off of the couch, twisting his body around in a move that he had perfected over the last two years. When he was settled, he reached forward and readjusted his legs, tugging roughly at his khaki pants.

Andy didn't offer to help him, knowing that it would be pointless. Instead, he waited until Shawn started wheeling himself into the kitchen, then followed him into the room.

His father was already sitting down, but his mother was standing at the stove, turning the knobs. Andy sat down next to his father, and Shawn took the spot at the end of the table, where there was no chair. A few seconds later, Mrs. Clark set a plate of burnt chicken in the center of the table.

"Hope everyone's hungry," she said brightly.

* * *

"So, how is your friend?"

Brian looked up from his mashed potatoes. "Claire?" His father nodded. "Oh, she's…" He shrugged. "I don't know. She's holding up okay, I think."

Mr. Johnson offered his son a sad smile. "Losing a parent is tough. I'm sure she's glad you're there."

Brian nodded, though he couldn't really confirm his father's assumption. Since he'd arrived, he hadn't talked to Claire much about her mother, and he didn't know if it was his fault or if she was just really busy with funeral plans. Part of him still wondered why she'd asked them to be there in the first place, but it was only a small part. In his heart, he knew. He knew and he understood.

"Who _is_ Claire?" Mrs. Johnson asked. "I don't remember her."

"Oh, uh…" Brian paused, trying to think of some way to describe his relationship with her. With all of them. "She was just a friend from high school."

"You must have been close if she asked you to come all the way out here during your Spring Break," his mother observed.

Her tone was light and conversational, but Brian knew that it was a trap. After years of living under her roof, he had learned a few of the warning signs. "Yeah, we were," he responded, unwilling to give her anything to hang him with. He didn't really want to talk about the Breakfast Club anyway, not with her. She wouldn't understand.

Mrs. Johnson murmured noncommittally, but didn't try and dig any deeper. Brian let out silent sigh of relief. Across the table, Elizabeth was watching him as she took sips from her glass of milk. He shot her a brief smile, and she smiled back.

"How are your classes going?" his mother asked.

Brian looked up. "Oh, uh…fine. I'm really liking my American Lit class. The professor, he really knows his stuff. He's assigned some interesting books."

Mrs. Johnson nodded thoughtfully. "I'm glad to hear that." He couldn't really tell what she meant by that, but it didn't seem too ominous, so he didn't dwell on it.

"What about Russian Literature?" his father asked. "Do they offer a class like that? Because I remember when I was back in school, they offered a class on Russian-American novels. A seminar, I think. But we read this book about a guy in the mob…what was that called, honey?" he asked, glancing over at his wife. "I think it's still in the bookcase in the office. Something about dark streets or dirty streets or…" He trailed off thoughtfully, then stood up. "I'm going to see if I can find it." He started walking toward the office, but his wife grabbed him by the sleeve.

"Harold, sit down," she said tiredly. "We're right in the middle of dinner."

"I know right where it is. Second shelf down, right next to the--"

"Harold."

There was something in her tone that told him not to argue. He nodded and returned to his seat. "I'll find it for you later," he promised his son. "It's a great book."

Brian nodded. "Thanks, dad."

Mr. Johnson nodded happily and took a bite of mashed potatoes.

"How is Rebecca?"

Brian looked back over at his mother, who was watching him from across the table. "Oh, she's fine."

"Is she still working at the diner?"

Brian nodded. "Yeah."

"How long have the two of you been dating now?" asked Mr. Johnson, wiping his mouth with a paper napkin. There was still a smudge of mashed potato on his left cheek.

"Uh, about a year," said Brian.

"She's a sweet girl, isn't she?" his father asked, smiling fondly.

Brian nodded, feeling slightly embarrassed. Then he remembered the last time he'd seen Rebecca, when he'd gone over to her apartment just before he'd left for Shermer. How they'd done it in her bed, with her door unlocked and her roommate in the next room. He felt his face heating up, and he busied himself with his corn.

"Are you going to marry her?" Gracie asked.

Brian looked up, face still burning. "Um, I don't--"

"Gracie, don't be rude," said Mrs. Johnson. "That's none of your business."

"Yes, it is," Gracie responded. "She'll be in our family. He can't marry someone we don't like."

"Gracie, that's so rude," said Elizabeth. "Rebecca is nice."

"I didn't say she wasn't!" Gracie exclaimed, narrowing her eyes in Elizabeth's direction.

"You made it sound like you don't think she's nice," Elizabeth explained calmly. Her eyes flickered briefly over in Brian's direction, then back at her sister.

Gracie's eyes were wide with indignation. "No, I didn't! I didn't say I didn't like her!"

"Yes, you did," said Elizabeth. "You said he can't marry someone we didn't like."

"I wasn't talking about _her_." Gracie glanced over at Brian. "I wasn't _talking_ about her," she repeated, shaking her head.

Brian opened his mouth to assure her that he understood, but Elizabeth beat him to the punch. "Then why would you say that if you thought he was going to marry _her_?" she asked Gracie. Her tone was smug, like she already knew she'd won.

"Because I--" Gracie let out a sharp, frustrated breath. "I just meant that he should ask us first, just in case."

"Alright, girls," Mr. Johnson cut in, holding his hands up. "Let's just take a deep breath and--"

"Just in case?" Elizabeth echoed, ignoring her father. "In case what, he makes a mistake?"

"I didn't mean that!" Gracie shouted, glancing back and forth between Brian and Elizabeth. She looked so trapped. "I didn't--" And then she burst into tears.

Brian watched her for a minute, uncertain about what was happening. "It's okay, Gracie. I know you didn't--"

"You're so mean!" Gracie shouted at Elizabeth. "I hate you!"

Elizabeth just stared back at Gracie, her expression impassive. There was something so cold about the look on her face that Brian was instantly reminded of their mother, and he turned away.

"Gracie, I know you don't mean that," their father said patiently, reaching over to touch his daughter on the arm. "You don't hate her."

"Yes, I do!" She wiped the furious tears from her bright pink cheeks with the back of her hand. "She treats me like I'm a baby."

"That's because you are one," Elizabeth retorted.

"No, I'm not!" A fresh wave of angry tears flooded Gracie's cheeks.

"Yes, you--"

"Elizabeth, that's enough."

Elizabeth glanced over at their mother, surprised. "She's acting like a--"

"I said, that's _enough_."

Elizabeth stared at their mother for a long moment, then looked over at her brother. Brian saw the hurt and the anger in her eyes, and he knew she wanted him to say something, _anything_, but he didn't know what. Elizabeth watched him for a long moment, waiting, but he didn't speak. Then, without another word, she pushed her chair back, stood from the table, and ran from the room.

Brian watched her leave, knowing he'd done something wrong. He turned back to look at Gracie, who was still crying quietly, caught up in the moment. Mr. Johnson was rubbing her arm, frowning confusedly, as if he couldn't quite figure out what had happened. "You're just tired," he said soothingly, reaching up to brush the blonde strands from her moist, blotchy face. "It's been a long day."

Gracie didn't say anything, just hiccupped and leaned over so that her father could rub her head.

Brian looked back at his mother, who was watching her husband and daughter, frowning thoughtfully as if her mind was elsewhere. She looked a little bit envious…a little bit sad. But all of that disappeared when she realized that Brian was watching her.

"She'll be fine," she said firmly, answering his silent question.

Brian nodded, though he didn't know which girl she was talking about, and he didn't believe her anyway.

* * *

A/N: Please review, and be honest. Thank you! 


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